Priceless: Diamonds
by KristieConspiracy
Summary: "I want that one." Draco was only 8 years old when he picked Hermione. He should have known it wouldn't be that easy. Book 1 of the 'Priceless' series, sequel is 'Snakeskin'. AU (marriage law, modern wizarding world c. 1990) but following canon, Dramione.
1. become one

**_D_iamonds**

**o1. become one**

_I knew that we'd become one right away  
Oh, right away_

* * *

"They changed the marriage laws, don't you know."

"Yes, Narcissa, I have been in informed."

The children didn't look up from where they sat neatly on the floor as the dark-haired woman with the unusually masculine face patronised the elegant Lady Malfoy. Each child was eight years old and had been trained by experts to behave perfectly, and neither of them would move until Pansy's mother stood up to leave. And this was fine by Draco; for as far as he could tell, Pansy Parkinson was a vile brat who didn't deserve the respect granted by the Malfoys. That he wasn't technically supposed to talk to her was just another reason he was so proud of the Malfoy name. It saved him from awful things, like not being the first to read a new book or to own a new toy. He turned a page in the book he was pretending to read, trying not to look as though he was eavesdropping on his mother's words.

"I suppose this means the Parkinson and Malfoy lines will never cross."

"Such a shame," Narcissa murmured. Even Pansy, silly, ignorant Pansy, rose her eyebrows when she heard the obvious mockery in the woman's tone. "But of course. We could never defy the Ministry."

"I seem to remember you doing exactly that in the past." Mrs Parkinson's tone was sickly sweet, and Draco felt his loose tooth throb as he grimaced at his book. "Or have you forgotten Lucius' crimes?"

"My husband was cleared, Prudence. Yours was not, however unfortunate that may be for your charming daughters."

The Parkinsons' didn't remain at the Manor for long after that. Draco and Narcissa watched them go from the doorway, both silent for a long while before the mother placed her hand on her beloved sons' shoulder. "Draco," she began.

"Yes, mother?" The boy's voice was still practically a squeak, though this was because he didn't try to sound more mature. He never did, not when only Narcissa was around to hear him.

"Tomorrow there is an important meeting. There will be a collection of muggle-born and half-blood girls there for you to meet. One of these girls will be your wife in the future."

"I thought that was Pansy." He hadn't yet learned to keep the disgust from his voice when he spoke of the girl he was supposed to wed. Narcissa fixed him with a disapproving stare. "Besides, father says that muggle-borns are filthy."

"Don't be rude, Draco!" She paused for a moment, taking a deep breath in an attempt to steady herself before kneeling, her dark eyes now level with his pale ones. "I'm sure they'll be charming."

"But mother, what if I don't like the one you choose?"

"I'm not going to be choosing, Draco."

He stamped his foot, crying out in an attempt to voice his own disappointment. "Father, then? He'll choose someone evil, I know he will!"

"Don't speak of your father like that!" The sharp tone startled the child, who flinched in response to the order. Narcissa instantly felt terrible, and she reached for him, caressing his face between her hands. "My little dragon. Your father isn't to choose your partner. You are to select the young lady yourself."

Surprised by the responsibility, he stared at her for almost a full minute before loosening the tight fists he'd curled his hands into. "What if someone picks the same one as me?" He was picturing greedy Gregory Goyle and selfish Theodore Nott, boys that always wanted what he had. "They're bigger than me. They'll take her instead."

"No, Draco, no they won't. Only you get to choose. Only you will be there to see the mu - _young ladies_. I expect the other boys don't yet know what they're in for."

"What does that mean?"

She looked at him, surprised, as she often was, by his curious nature and desire to understand everything. She dreaded the day a proper upbringing would force that out of him, make him into the perfect little pureblood heir. "It doesn't matter what it means, not today, and not tomorrow. Draco, my little dragon, you will look at the girls and you will choose one. I expect they won't behave as well as Pansy," something Draco privately thought was a rather brilliant thing, actually, because Pansy was rather boring, "and they won't have nearly the level of education you've had," which meant they might be thick and he might look better for being a know-it-all, "and of course they won't have the same pedigree as our family, the Malfoys and Blacks and all the purebloods."

"Won't that make father mad?"

"Your father," Narcissa said slowly, "must learn that he cannot always have his way. Now go upstairs, Draco, dinner must nearly be ready. Dobby!"

Off Draco went, leaving the beautiful woman to the house elf, skipping over the trick step half-way up the staircase. His head was full of toys and books and girls who weren't quite as good as him, but had to be more interesting than Pansy Parkinson, with her squashed nose and coal black eyes. They just _had_ to be.

* * *

They weren't interesting at all, Draco learned at noon the next day. They ate like pigs at a trough, their voices were crudely accented, and none of them held themselves with any sort of self-respect. He couldn't pin the cause of his instinctive rejection at the time, but he held himself separate from them nonetheless.

As the only boy, Draco was the elephant in the room. Struck by sudden shyness, he wanted to keep close to Narcissa, who was trying to make small talk with some of the parents of the children. The woman was avoiding a select group, though, refusing to move any closer. He thought they must be extremely far beneath her, for the usually sociable lady to ignore them so completely. And yet, he kept peering at them curiously.

"Look, Draco, the Bulstrode girl is here."

"Father says that Mister Bulstrode is a disappointment," he recited. The girl's mother had dressed her plump daughter in a lavender dress that made her look larger than she was, and made her face appear washed out and ugly. Narcissa silently approved of Draco's decision, despite how poorly worded it had been - the poor girl's mother, after all, was almost as much of an eyesore as Prudence Parkinson, and an unremarkable muggle-born as well. There was no benefit to the Malfoy family there, not even anything to brag over.

"This is Tracey Davis, isn't she lovely?"

He shot one look at the blonde girl, her short hair in her freckled face and her nervous expression obvious enough for all the room to see. He shook his head. "No way." Tracey looked like she might cry, though no one could tell if that was from relief or from misery.

"Susan Bones?" Narcissa prodded hopefully. "Cassandra Runcorn?"

"Cassie!" the bespectacled girl corrected quickly. She was pretty enough, but she seemed rather dull, at least to Draco. And her tone was the same arrogant one Pansy always fell into out of habit. Beside her, a girl with a long red plait looked like a Weasley, but must have been the Bones girl. At any rate, she flinched and shook her head at Draco, as if pleading him not to encourage her companion.

Surprised by her confidence but still not interested, he found his attention wandering back to the group at the other side of the room. It was quite small, a dozeb people in all. A small blond clutched her mother's hand, fiddling with the hem of her spotted shirt while she chattered away to some other girl. The parents all looked terrified, though, and completely lost.

"Hermione," called an exasperated voice. Draco almost laughed; it was the same tone Narcissa used when he wasn't paying attention to her. "Darling, you should have something to eat."

"I'm almost finished my chapter, mum," called the girl that must've been her daughter, her voice muffled. He knew that didn't make sense unless she had something in her mouth - but the woman had called for her to eat, so she _couldn't_ have. Stepping away from Narcissa for the first time, he looked more closely at the group. That was when he realised that they weren't as close as he had thought.

Oh, they were mostly a tight-knit group, brought closer by unfamiliarity. The parents were in the main cluster, most of the girls with them. But there was an outsider he hadn't noticed before, a girl with a mess of brown hair sitting away from the edge of the group. He couldn't see her clearly behind the book in her hands, which had to be about the size of her head. A minute later, she turned the page, slipped something into the pages and gently closed it, revealing a wistful smile as she lowered the tome, the words 'Jane Eyre' written in gold across the cover.

"Hermione!"

"I'm coming, mum," she chirped, jumping to her feet. The girl wasn't dressed like the others in dresses and pretty skirts - no, she wore a dark jumper over a shirt with a yellow collar, and a tartan skirt with black school shoes.

With a jolt he realised what was different: she wasn't trying to play pretend at being someone she wasn't, and she wasn't trying to hide from sight. The other girls in the corner were muggles and their children, then, weren't they? And this 'Hermione' wasn't trying to pretend that she was anything better dressed or more important than she usually was. Unlike everyone else in the room, she actually seemed comfortable in her own skin. Grinning to himself, Draco moved back to Narcissa's side, patting her arm to get her attention. She turned to him, relieved by any excuse to end the inane chatter with the muggle-born dull-as-a-rock Magda Bulstrode. "What is it, Draco? Have you made up your mind?"

He nodded eagerly, pointing towards the muggles and their children. Narcissa felt her stomach drop, and she wondered if she might lose her lunch over this. She hadn't expected that he'd look at the _other_ group, nor that he'd actually be _interested_ in any of them. Hesitantly, she followed the direction he was pointing. Bushy brown hair was all she saw, a girl in a plain dark uniform. She looked dull and unpretentious, no hint of anything attractive in her future. And she wasn't even interacting with anyone else!_ Oh, Merlin. Draco, don't say it._

"I want that one."

* * *

**Challenges: **Lily F. Lux's _English Idioms Challenge _on HPFC, Philaria's _85 Shades of AU Competition _on HPFC.

**Characters: **Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Narcissa Malfoy

**Prompts: ****E**lephant in the room. **56\. F**orced marriage/marriage law, 70. Modern wizarding world, 80. Political.

**Word Count: **1,762

**Song**: _Diamonds_ by Rihanna.

**EDITED: **25/01/2015


	2. energy of sun

**Diamonds**

**o2. energy of sun**

_At first I felt the energy of sun rays  
I saw the life inside your eyes_

* * *

The sunlight of early afternoon blazed down on the scarlet train, flooding the carriages and the compartments that lined them with light. To anyone looking in, this particular compartment held a serene image: a young witch in her Hogwarts robes already, alone in the near silence with a book.

Hermione Granger tucked her feet neatly beneath herself on the periwinkle seat. A heavy textbook - _Hogwarts: A History_ \- was open on her knees, but it was her hand she was focused on. The sunlight caught on the silver of the ring, recasting the black dragons in a brutal shade of gunmetal. But if she tilted it just right, she could return it to the original design, the one she'd memorised since that fateful day three years ago. Twin dragons wrapped around her finger, the tails whirling together and binding the thing to her left ring finger - an engagement ring on the hand of an almost-twelve-year-old girl. The insignia was unique; a silver M on a green and black shield, held aloft by matching black dragons and topped by serpents. Though she couldn't make out the tiny engraved message on the crest, she knew what it said, having read it in a book: _sanctimonia vincet semper. _'Honour always overcomes'. It was a beautiful design, really.

So why did the sight of it fill her with a sense of dread?

Hermione was a clever girl. She'd always been exceedingly bright, more so than her peers. This gave her a home on the outside of everything, where she could read instead of listening to people get things wrong, only to refuse to fix it. When she'd been told, almost-age-nine, that she was a witch, she'd been sceptical. Oh, she'd _wanted _it to be true, there was no doubt about that - any reason for her unusualness would be wonderful, after all. But the information that she was a witch - explained by some hideous woman with a face like a toad in a condescending, sugary sweet tone that had her wondering how her teeth hadn't rotted away during the explanation - came with no evidence, so she had continued to doubt it.

Until the lunch meeting.

She'd been reading _Jane Eyre_ at the time, she remembered it because grandma Jean had given it to her following grandpa's first heart attack. Her mother, Monica, had been erratic and uncertain but had taken her to the lunch nonetheless. "Oh, all the other girls are wearing such nice dresses."

"I _like_ my uniform, mum. And I'm going back to school after this. Getting dressed up would be pointless."

Monica had sighed, but smiled nonetheless, bending down to kiss her forehead. "That's my Hermione."

Hermione had retreated from the rest of the so-called 'muggle-born' 'witches' with the intention of reading, but something stopped her from opening the book. That something was a sudden _pop_ coming from the middle of the room.

A blonde woman and her son had appeared out of nowhere, looking not at all ruffled by the experience and forcing Hermione to accept the idea of magic on the spot. The bushy-haired girl stared curiously at the pair: the woman's expression was one of disgust, but only, Hermione had noted, when she looked towards the 'muggles'. The rest of the lunch had been a blur, memories lost to Hermione as she blocked the room out to focus on her book. It wasn't until she felt someone's eyes settle on her that she looked up at all, though it was through her hair so he couldn't see that he had her attention.

And then he spoke. _I want that one_. As though she were a toy in a shop.

The ring had been just one of the things that followed, the boy himself sliding it onto her finger as he followed the instructions given later, by a man too dark to be his father. _Malfoy_, the boy said, _Draco Malfoy_. _And this marks you as mine. _There was no mention that _he_ was _hers_, or that she would have a choice. Both her parents had looked on with something like pity in their gaze. And that was that; she hadn't seen the pasty boy since the ritual.

Hermione turned the ring on her finger, hiding the crest. She didn't try to pull it; she already knew it wouldn't come off. It was like a tiny handcuff, another reason for her friends to mock her. If she'd had any, that is. Her closest friends were the books she'd been given by family, and the ones she bought herself. And the ones the Malfoy family sent her, of course, via owl post. That was the one benefit of being constantly monitored under the terms of a contract she'd had barely any input in: they'd never allow their child's future wife to want for anything. No, _that_ would be cruel.

She laughed to herself and straightened the ring, curling her fingers around the pages of her favourite book. "Yes, because meeting a person _once_ tells you everything they intend to do to you. Very clever, Hermione Jean, very clever."

Her words were the only sound in the carriage, as alone as she was. She pretended not to notice as she began to read. The book, after all, was her closest friend - and people stayed with their friends. No matter what.

* * *

In a different compartment of the same carriage on the same train, sparks flew from the wands of laughing purebloods. They were children proud to own their own wands and, for the first time ever, not be compelled to 'borrow' those of their parents. Draco rolled his eyes and leant back in his seat, glancing out the window. He tried to focus on the view of the countryside as it flashed past. It was an uphill battle - one he wasn't about to win.

Finally, fed up with the sparks, he rose from his seat and breezed past them, heading out into the hall, where he sighed and pressed his forehead against the cool glass. Considering that it wasn't summer any more, it was incredibly hot. Or maybe he just wasn't used to the heavy black robes. Turning around to press his back against the wall, he unfolded the letter he'd been unfolding and refolding since he'd left his mum at the platform.

It was habit that had him reading it, again and again. He always did; at first because Narcissa insisted, later because it was something to do. And - as long as Lucius wasn't around - he admitted that he wanted to know what she was like. Since meeting her was out of the question - his father had put his foot down the first chance he had - the impersonal reports were how he knew her. Lists of books and achievements, mostly. No parties except things with family - and even then she apparently sat separate to everyone else. He grimaced at the page; _did I pick the most boring girl possible?_

A quick scan over the list told him no, he had not. For one thing, she had reread _Hogwarts: A History _more than any other book, which pleased him - perhaps they _would_ have something in common, other than a liking for knowledge and an intense loneliness. Draco kept his own personal copy of the text somewhere no one else would look for it: tucked into his bedside table, or slipped beneath the pillow. Lucius would have been horrified with his sons' attempt to bond across untold distances with the muggle-born he'd again, the adult wizard barely bothered trying to understand his son any more, especially since he'd been forced to sign away the good Malfoy name to some 'filthy mudblood brat'.

Draco was more concerned with the list of her books, which filed through a long compilation of muggle titles he'd never heard of. He had eventually decided to look them up on the computer his father had begrudgingly purchased when the Ministry began to adapt to muggle technology, which had only lead to more confusion - the search for information, not the use of the computer. He liked to think he was quite good at that.

A fat boy with filthy blond hair peeked out from a different compartment, pale and with a concerned expression similar to the one that Narcissa had worn for days before he'd boarded the _Hogwarts Express_. "Who're you supposed to be?"

"Neville," he said miserably. "I can't find my toad."

"You have a pet _toad_?" Draco, a spoiled boy who had had everything from a pet peacock to a puffskein in the last two years alone, grimaced in distaste. No one who was _anyone_ had a pet toad.

"It was a gift," he moaned defensively, "and I need to find him before we get off the train."

"Whatever. I may as well help."

"Really?"

"Don't make me regret this," Draco said, and bypassed the compartment he had escaped from. "Is there a toad in here?"

"No, I think I'd have noticed a toad. Why do you ask?"

Draco didn't answer, staring at her. The bushy hair was a dead giveaway, though the uniform was different. If he'd had any doubt, the ring glinting against the cover of the book was proof. "You start Hogwarts _this_ year? Really?"

"I _am_ eleven, the proper age to start since the founding era in -" she retorted indignantly, looking up and cutting herself off mid-sentence. "Oh."

"That's all you have to say? 'Oh'?"

"What am I _supposed_ to say? That I'm pleased to see you? Draco Malfoy, I know less about you than I do football. And I _really_ don't like football."

"Then you have the disadvantage, Hermione Granger. I've learned a lot about you."

"Like what?"

"You read a lot."

"Oh, very clever."

"I'm not finished. Your favourite book is _Hogwarts: A History_, which you've read over a dozen times since you first got a copy after the last time we met. You read all the books I send to you." He was smug about this. "Good. You need to know as much about my world as I do."

"_Your_ world?"

"Yes. Magic is in my blood, and my parents give me anything I want. My world."

"Including me." Had Draco been more experienced, he might have noticed that her tone wasn't pleased. It wasn't even understanding, just flat - Hermione was not impressed.

"Yes, including you."

"Oh, well. Since you see it like _that_, I'm sure my opinion doesn't matter."

He flinched at the tone, but didn't understand. No one had ever been outright displeased to meet him before.

"Is Trevor in there?" Neville's voice startled the boy in the doorway, though he hid his jumpiness in a backwards glance. He did not hide his instinctive glare.

"Who?"

"My toad. You were helping me find him, weren't you?"

"Oh. Yes. Sure, Neville."

Hermione snapped her book shut. "I'll help you look," she told him, refusing to meet Draco's eyes as she pushed past him. "He's bound to be around somewhere."

Draco had never expected that he would be snubbed so badly and so obviously, especially not by someone with _less_ than him. It was incredibly unnerving.

It was also kind of attractive, not that he would admit it until much later.

* * *

**Challenges: **Lily F. Lux's _English Idioms Challenge_ on HPFC, Philaria's _85 Shades of AU Competition_ on HPFC.

**Characters: **Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom.

**Prompts: ****U**phill battle. **56\. F**orced marriage/marriage law, 70. Modern wizarding world, 80. Political.

**Word count: **1,887

**Song: **_Diamonds_ by Rihanna.

**EDITED: **25/01/2015


	3. feel the warmth

**A/N:** If anyone's interested in some outtakes, alternate scenes or things that didn't fit with what I want in the basic story, feel free to check out **_Priceless_**. It's a new story; I posted a remake of the scene from _Philosophers Stone_ where Draco and Harry meet in Madam Malkins'. It fits more with the marriage law AU concept than the default meeting, at any rate.

* * *

_**D**_**iamonds**

**o3. feel the warmth**

_Feel the warmth, we'll never die  
We're like diamonds in the sky_

* * *

"Have you chosen a Quidditch team yet?"

"What's Quidditch?"

"Now that's just mean," Draco grimaced at the back of her head. "I know you've read _Quidditch Through the Ages_, it's on the list."

She sighed, closing another compartment door. _No toad_. A moment later, it occurred to her that he'd said something she genuinely didn't understand. "List? What are you talking about?"

"The list of what you've read," he shrugged, flippant. "I've always been sent an updated one, every week, sometimes more if it's too long to fit on one page."

She shuddered slightly at the idea that someone was watching her every move. She'd always known, of course, but had never seen the results. It was creepy. "Well, stop it."

"What? No. How else am I supposed to learn anything about you?"

"You think you're learning about me by keeping track of what I read? Honestly, are you always this arrogant, or is it just because I'm here?"

"I'm not changing myself for you. I don't have to."

She shook her head, astounded by his arrogance. "I chose the Chudley Cannons."

She didn't really; she didn't care. But she'd read through the texts with the same amount of attention she paid everyone else, and the orange and black clad team were by far the worst in the league, apparently. So she'd said it to irritate him, shocking him into silence while she turned to the next compartment. It opened with a screech. "Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one."

Two boys looked up from their seats opposite each other. One had jet black hair and glasses, and the other had red hair, freckles and a rat at his side. The latter was the one who spoke: "We've already told him we haven't seen it."

"Oh," she said, her eyes on the wand in his hand as she shifted closer, perching on a vacant seat. She might have had various books about the magical world for years, thanks to the texts the Malfoys supplied - but she'd never seen a spell cast, except the ritual one when she was almost nine. A lot of things seemed to go back to that time, but curiosity distracted her for the moment. _Real_ magic? "Are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."

"Er - all right," said the red-head, obviously uncomfortable as he cleared his throat, then recited his spell. He held his wand with an unsteady hand; it didn't surprise her at all when the 'stupid, fat rat' didn't turn yellow. She couldn't help herself, though, and began her own spiel:

"Are you sure that's a real spell? Well, it's not very good, is it? If you were going to try a spell before starting learning properly, then why wouldn't you pick something easy, something you knew for sure would work? I suppose if you grew up with a magical family you might have the chance to watch other witches and wizards work proper magic, but my family aren't magic at all. I mean, I knew about it, of course I knew," she watched out of the corner of her eye as the other boy jerked in surprise. Perhaps pureblood girls didn't get to choose, not the same way she had been chosen and pulled out of her mundane world? Even if it _was_ for only a few hours, and the time it took to read a few hundred books. "But I've never seen any spells performed, really, that would be incredibly improper, at least according to what I've read. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"

""I'm Ron Weasley."

"Harry Potter."

"Are you really? I know all about you, of course, everyone does. You're in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_. There're about a dozen others you're mentioned in too, of course, but I read them so long ago I'm afraid I can't quite recall them all."

"Really?" The boy - _Harry Potter,_ she wasn't sure she believed that - seemed unfocused.

"How can you possibly have read so much in a month?" The other boy frowned at her.

"Who said anything about a month? They've been sending me books every since the decision was made."

"_They_?" Harry sounded as though he thought she might be talking about a cult. But the instinctive movement of her right hand to her left caught the red-heads eye; he frowned at it, his eyes on the ring.

"It's more like a sponsor than whatever you're thinking. The boy who chose me, his family pays for my books, or at least provides the magical ones. Apparently, it would be unfitting for his future wife to not have access to every piece of information she could want." Not that anyone had ever asked her what she wanted. _Doesn't everyone get the same treatment?_ she wondered.

"The boy who -?"

Ron's eyes widened, and his confused frown quickly became hostile. He knocked the rat aside as he stood up, gesturing jerkily between her and the door. "Get out."

She looked up at him, surprised by the demand. "Excuse me?"

"Get out of this compartment!"

"Er, Ron? You alright there?" The bespectacled boy seemed genuinely concerned, frowning at his friend. "What's wrong with a sponsor?"

"It isn't a _sponsor_, it's a betrothal. The ring's the seal, says that the ritual's been carried out completely. She belongs to the _Malfoy heir_. Must be some half-blood cast off from a 'respectable' family."

He said this like it mattered, but both Hermione and Harry stared at him, no understanding in their eyes. Hermione was fuming. "_Belongs_ to? I'm not some boy's toy, to be chucked away in a moment of boredom. How _dare_ -"

"Finished my side. No toad, lots of talking. They're saying Harry Potter's here - I know, unbelievable, right? Anyway. Are you ready to go to the next carriage?"

He couldn't have arrived at a worse time: if Ron Weasley had been angry before, he was positively livid now. His face turned as red as his hair - an incredibly unattractive look, actually; Hermione was surprised when steam didn't pour out of his ears. "_Get out!_"

Draco slowly looked past Hermione. He didn't even notice Harry, only Ron, as he narrowed his eyes at him: Draco Malfoy was possessive and controlling, or at least so the rumours said. _No one_, not even the friend of The Boy Who Lived, had the right to boss him around. "No, I don't think I will. My parents warned me about you Weasleys, don't think for a second you go unnoticed. Red hair, freckles, and anger management problems worse than aunt Walburga. But you're not important enough to know more about than that, Weasley You don't order her around, and you _certainly_ don't give _me_ orders. Don't you dare."

"Or what?"

"Or, Weasley, I will have you pulled out of Hogwarts. I will have you disowned. I will strip you of whatever things you have - _all of them_. Even if there _are_ only a few. And then I will laugh."

"You bloody insufferable _git_."

"Ron, that's not -"

"And who are you, then?" Draco snapped, his eyes going to the other boy for the first time. By now he'd moved further into the carriage, standing beside Hermione's seat. He was pressed against her leg, and, Hermione thought, he was oddly warm for a boy with skin practically the exact colour of a piece of paper.

"Harry Potter," Hermione muttered out of the corner of her mouth. Draco's silver eyes went round as twin moons, his temper dimming for a moment as he processed that.

"_The_ Harry Potter? The famous baby hero from the first Wizarding War? Are you really? I don't believe it. I thought _the_ Harry Potter was off living with muggles."

"What's it to you?" Harry was defensive, his suspicion obvious behind his glasses.

"I just thought you would be taller. Or smart enough not to adopt a pet weasel." Trying to add insult to injury, he curled his lip and shot a sharp glare at the rat on the seat. "I see he's managed to find the only pet that could ever possibly be _worse_ than a toad. Good job, Weasley - as if I needed _another _reason to escape this stench. Come on, Hermione." And he pulled her out of the compartment.

"What was _that_?" she asked when they reached the next carriage, after asking a few more people for news of Neville's toad.

"What was what?"

"Oh, don't pretend you don't know, Draco Malfoy. That Ron Weasley - he looked at you like you were some demon, come to drive him mad. What was that about?"

Draco looked at her, _really_ looked at her, for the first time since they'd been forced to complete the ritual the day after their first meeting. Her brown hair was bushy as it had been then, wild and a complete disaster zone, one that would require a phenomenal amount of attention to tame. Her eyes were brown, too, and she was lightly tanned - he guessed from reading in the sun. He wondered what she'd read in her garden over the summer, waiting for the term to start.

"During the War, my family were on what most people today call 'the dark side'. The Weasleys' are just one part of 'most people' - just the first you met who actually recognised the crest." He shook his head. "I don't see why they hate us so much, not really. So we made different choices. So what? The war ended years ago, the last of the really dangerous people are gone. It was ages ago."

Hermione watched him as he spoke, wondering if his arrogance might taint his description. It was rather blunt - he probably left out some of the facts. Then again, he was eleven, he couldn't possibly know everything. "So it's history."

"Almost ancient."

She frowned, then nodded. "Alright."

A few minutes later, they had reached the end of the train. They stared out the window, watching as the sky darkened, becoming a mix of deep purple and midnight blue. The colours merged together, trees and mountains mere silhouettes beneath them. "We must be almost there."

"We didn't find the toad," Draco pointed out. Hermione smiled, scoffing to herself.

"I don't think he wants to be found. Maybe he doesn't like Neville."

"I don't think I'd want to be owned by someone like him, either."

"Oh, don't be mean. We should go back, though. All my things are in my compartment."

"We have to carry these things _ourselves_?" Draco's expression told her he believed nothing, literally _nothing¸ _could be worse than carrying his own belongings. In the face of that reaction, how could Hermione, used to carrying practically half her weight in books, _not_ laugh?

* * *

**Challenges: **Lily F. Lux's _English Idioms Challenge_ on HPFC, Philaria's _85 Shades of AU Competition_ on HPFC.

**Characters: **Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley.

**Prompts: ****A**dd insult to injury. **56\. F**orced marriage/marriage law, 70. Modern wizarding world, 80. Political.

**Word count:** 1,813

**Song: **_Diamonds_ by Rihanna.

**A/N: **I'm impressed with the feedback this has gotten. It was meant to just be a quick 9-parter, but due to something one reviewer pointed out, I'm probably going to try expanding it into a proper story. For now, instead of a chapter from the Chamber of Secrets timeline, I've uploaded this - Hermione's first meeting withHarry and Ron, which was something I thought of when I read _Chester99_'s comment that Ron wouldn't want to be friends with her. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!  
**Also**, if anyone has any songs in mind with lyrics that might fit with where they see this going, let me know. I think _Diamonds_ is probably useless to me now - all the better for me, I don't particularly like that song.

**EDITED: **26/01/2015


	4. what you know

_**D**_**iamonds**

**o4. what you know**

_What you know is who you are_  
_And she's anything_

* * *

"Which house do you want to be in?"

"Are you absolutely certain that someone else brings our things inside?"

"Hermione Granger, I asked you a question. You really should answer."

"Draco Malfoy, you don't own me yet."

"I kind of do, actually. I have since we were eight."

"Oh?"

"That's how it works. I choose you, then I own you. That's how it works. You can't be in Gryffindor."

She glanced at him, and he thought for a moment that she was about to fold her arms and scold him. "Why not?"

"Because I said so. And I'll be in Slytherin. A Slytherin _cannot_ be with a Gyffindor."

"Why?"

"Because it's not done."

"Why not?"

"House rivalry, probably."

"And why does that exist?"

"Because Gryffindor just isn't as good as Slytherin. Never has been."

Hermione didn't answer, no retort tripping out off her mouth. Draco was about to brag about his victory, but cut himself off just as quickly when he saw what had caught her attention: a gigantic man, towering over every single one of the students milling around the platform, held a swinging torch in his hand. He looked like a monste with his mangy beard and hair shadowing his face, making him seem incredibly horrific. Someone who had stepped right out of a muggle ghost story.

"Who's _that_?"

"Hagrid. Gamekeeper."

"Okay, _how_ do you know _that_?"

_Potter told me_. Except the Boy Who Lived seemed a bit of an idiot, really, so Draco didn't want to admit that he'd learned something from him. "I've been here before."

She scoffed at that. "Come on, we're meant to follow him."

"Oh, brilliant," Draco said, rather sarcastic. Hermione didn't seem to hear him as she walked away. He hurried after her - _because she's mine_, he told himself.

They settled into the boats soon after, having been given the instructions _no more'n four to a boat_. Hermione was itching to correct his enunciation, but the sight of the castle distracted her. Turrets and towers defined the silhouette of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, lights bright in many of the windows. The castle itself wasn't clearly visible, but against the clear star-studded sky, it looked amazing anyway. She had never seen anything more beautiful - or more intimidating. The silence of her fellow first years wasn't helping.

She had climbed in first, so she had expected to be shoved up against the far wall. Draco was beside her in the back, their similar small builds a significant advantage - at least when it came to fitting in the boat. It didn't help her nerves that Draco kept leaning backwards, and would have toppled any normal boat. It was propelled by magic, though, and so didn't tip as he grimaced at the bench in front of them, a bench she hadn't noticed at first. Hermione found his behaviour rather rude, particularly since one of the two in front of them was Neville, and all he'd done was ask Draco for help finding the toad - which was, by the way, still lost. The girl beside him sat with her spine as straight as a rod, and it didn't look comfortable at all. Hermione thought she might have black hair, but it was hard to tell for sure in the dark.

The lake barely stirred beneath their boat as Hagrid called for them to watch their heads as they passed through the hanging ivy. _I wonder if we're passing near the Slytherin dungeons_, she wondered, then shuddered. How cold it must be, down there in the dark.

Upon reaching the harbour, Draco waited for the other girl to exit and move away before darting out, lingering only long enough to grab Hermione's arm and tug her after him. It seemed he didn't like the boats much, which made her shake her head. _They're only a means of transport._

They waited as the gamekeeper searched the boats, completely clueless as to what to do next. Neville had joined them, purely out of nervousness and a desire for something familiar, and Hermione frowned at him while he wasn't looking. She wasn't sure if he was friendly, or just clingy. The nerves suggested the latter, but she couldn't find it in her to hold it against them. "Oy, you there! Is this your toad?"

"Trevor!" Neville called, breaking into a smile for the first time since she'd met him, holding out his hands to take the toad in his fingers.

"Hold the thing tightly, Neville," Draco ordered. Hermione frowned at him next. "But not _too_ tightly. We don't need him trying to escape again."

She watched closely as Hagrid knocked on the huge oak door, wondering what was inside. _Hogwarts: A History_ said it looked and was built like a castle, but did that mean it fit the modern muggle concept, something like a large house, or was it an _actual_ castle, like the one her parents had taken her to see in Scotland last summer? As soon as the third knock finished, the door swung open: a black-haired witch, all in emerald green, swept her gaze across all of them without moving an inch. "Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

The Entrance Hall was _huge_. She knew that already, obviously, from looking at the chapter on the planning and structure of the school in what Draco seemed to think was her favourite book - it could fit a modern muggle suburban house, two stories high, with ease, as an unnamed witch had demonstrated nearly forty years earlier to, according to Bathilda Bagshot, 'win a bet'. Hermione couldn't imagine ever being able to conjure up an entire _house_, especially not inside a castle, but looking up, she could picture the Granger home sitting there, front door at the base of the steps leading up into the rest of the castle. It wouldn't even make a witness feel like there was too much in the room, as the ceiling was so high she couldn't even see it, and electric light lit the walls. Turn them off, she reasoned, and everything would feel bigger already, if that were possible. _I wonder how many men the same height as Hagrid would need to stand on each others' shoulders to touch the ceiling_. She almost laughed at the mental picture as the witch Hagrid had called 'Professor McGonagall' lead them into a small, vacant room near the doors to what must have been the Great Hall.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said the Professor, looking over the crowd of first year students. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room."

Hermione divided her attention between the Professors' speech about each house and the house cup, and her own thoughts. This was what she had been looking forward to, so much so that she hadn't even mentioned to Neville that he'd fastened his cloak beneath his left ear. She was tempted to start reciting all she'd learned to herself, but there was no point, really. She already knew as much as she possibly could without lessons, and that Harry Potter certainly didn't seem to know anything she didn't already. It'd probably turn out that she'd covered far too much, just like during her homework assignments at her last school, and would end up with bonus points or extra credit. She leaned closer and whispered, "Draco?"

"Yeah?" The boy still looked as though he might be sick. She made a mental note to do some research about seasickness the first time she could get to the library; there had to be a way to get rid of it.

"If I'm not in Slytherin, what are you going to do?"

"Obviously something will have to happen. You'll get your house changed or you'll have to eat and room with the Slytherins, even if you have to attend classes with Ravenclaw instead. As if they'll put us in different dorms, not when you're mine."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You're all talk," she said, "and no action. I bet you won't even try to do anything."

"Alright. Bet what?"

Hermione didn't really have anything to bet, as almost all of her things had been provided by his family and their wealth. She was motivated by the story about the house in the Entrance Hall, though, and so she frowned. "A necklace my mum gave me?"

"Why would I want your mum's necklace?"

"A gift for _your _mum?" She wasn't even wearing the silver chain; she almost never did. The ring was stuck on her finger and so was never removed, but any other jewellery just tended to annoy her. "I don't know, Draco, but I don't really have anything else to bet. What if I win? What do I get?"

"The most expensive book my mother can find," he said promptly, with no idea what it would be. She raised her eyebrows, then stuck out her hand. He stared for an instant before clasping it with his own. "Deal?"

"Deal."

The ghosts entered the room then, startling quite a few people. Hermione watched and counted them off in her mind, matching them to the names and descriptions given by Bathilda Bagshot. _Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, Gryffindor. The Gray Lady, Ravenclaw. Bloody Baron, Slytherin. Fat Friar, Hufflepuff. Lord Draben -_

"Move along now," McGonagall cut in, "the Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

It was a good thing she wasn't disabled somehow, Hermione decided as the tenth student was sorted into Ravenclaw. She'd been standing for so long she wondered that her feet weren't aching. _It's probably the nerves_, she decided, though she was disappointed that all they had to do was put on the Hat. It seemed too easy, somehow.

And then it was her turn, and the Hat fell down over her eyes, and the Hall vanished into darkness.

"What have we here?" a small voice whispered into her ear. She almost sighed in relief; imagine her dread if she hadn't heard anything! She wondered for a moment how a deaf student might be sorted, and made a mental note to research that, as well as the seasickness, as soon as she could. _Focus, Hermione_, she told herself.

"Hermione, is it? Interesting name, there. Do you know what it means?

_Obviously_, she thought at the hat, rolling her eyes. She was impressed that she hadn't done so when Draco was talking _at_ her earlier; he sounded so ridiculous. _It means 'earthy', technically, but it's also associated with Greek mythology, especially the daughter of Helen of Troy and Menelaus, as it was her name. Her grandfather, Tyndareus, tries to marry her off to her cousin Orestes, who of course is absolutely insane, largely due to a curse on his family name, at least according to Homers' version. Then Menelaus, her own father, betroths her to Neoptolemus, sometimes called Pyrrhus, Achilles' son, which is a bit of an awful move, really, since most versions of the story claim that Neoptolemus was an awful person, murdering Priam and Euryplus and Polyxena and Astyanax and more, all in cold blood, and captured Helenus and made poor Andromache his concubine. And then she ends up with Orestes anyway, all because of some ridiculous delusion of spell-casting and because Menelaus - perfectly reasonably, I might add - refuses to kill Andromache. And good for him! More than enough blood was shed over that git Neoptolemus without Hermione adding to it._

She heard a sound in her head like an old man laughing, and shifted self consciously. "Ravenclaw, then, with that thirst for knowledge, or perhaps Gryffindor, with that temper."

_I can't help it that I care about it. She should never have agreed to any of these arranged marriages. I mean, two men, really? What a mess!_

"Perhaps she had no choice."

_Perhaps she should have fought harder._

"I see."

_You do? You see what?_ She frowned into the black. _Sorting Hat, you don't seem to be trying very hard to pick a house for me. Is it difficult?_

"To a degree. Nothing I haven't seen before, don't you worry about that. You have all sorts of wonderful thoughts in here - I could rummage around in here for hours without getting bored, I expect. As it is, it seems I must not dally, unfortunately. Such potential here. What's this thought about Slytherin? Avoidance?"

_I'm certainly not ambitious enough for that, no matter what he says._

"On the contrary, I would say you're perfectly ambitious, more than enough to fit in with the ranks of Slytherin."

She snorted aloud at that. _You haven't spoken to him yet, you have no idea how snarky he can be._

"Snarky?"

_Oh, don't laugh. It's a perfectly appropriate description for him. Draco Malfoy: snarky git._

"Interesting."

_What is it this time?_

"You say his name like it's familiar."

_Sorting Hat, he's a familiar concept, for sure. Now which house suits me best?_

There was silence, for a time, while the Hat seemed to think. "Ravenclaw, for that mind of yours, would be a good match. Plenty of people to discuss seasickness and disability with, should the motivation continue to drive you. Lots of books. A tower, far from Slytherin."

She didn't think anything, though it was a challenge. It was obvious that there was a _but_ coming.

"In Gryffindor, however, you could thrive. You have a passion for knowledge, Hermione Granger, but you could be so much more than that."

_I hope you aren't hinting at Slytherin ambition again, because that would be rather repetitive, don't you think?_

Sounding amused, the Sorting Hat finally finished, almost four minutes after she had donned the thing. "Very well, Miss Granger. I hope you're quite satisfied with your accomplishments. It may well be a challenge, but you'll enjoy your place in GRYFFINDOR."

The table of gold and red broke out in cheers, just as they had for everyone else. She didn't think for a second that the cheering was for _her_ \- more likely they were just thrilled to have one more person that some other house didn't have. As she glanced back at the other students, she caught sight of Draco, standing beside Neville in the line. He narrowed his eyes at her, as though he suspected she'd rigged it somehow.

She grinned at him and took a seat near a set of three red-haired boys at the end of the table, so she could be sure she would see Draco's irritation. She wasn't usually one to make friends, let alone to tease, but she couldn't help herself. It was almost too easy. _This is going to be fun_.

* * *

**Challenges:** Lily F. Lux's _English Idioms Challenge_ on HPFC, Philaria's _85 Shades of AU Competition_ on HPFC.

**Characters: **Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Sorting Hat

**Prompt: A**ll talk and no action. **56\. F**orced marriage/marriage law, 70. Modern wizarding world, 80. Political.

**Word Count:** 2,497

**A/N: **Wow, I didn't expect this chapter to get quite so long, not when I started so late. Once I searched the origin of the name _Hermione_, though, I just knew what to write. Hermione's always seemed the sort to memorise myths and legends, and since I adore Greek mythology, that was fun to research. This particular variation is largely drawn from translations of Homer's _Odyssey_, the story of the Trojan War and its' aftermath. On a side note, I didn't realise how appropriate the Greek roots of 'Hermione' are for a marriage law AU until about an hour ago!

**Song used: **_She's a Genius_ by JET

**EDITED: **17/02/2015


	5. take control

_**D**_**iamonds**

**o5. take control**

_My girl is ready to take control  
She just blows my mind_

* * *

Draco looked up as a _thump_ came from his left, and looked across the aisle. His eyes widened. "Lots of books there, Hermione."

"What're you reading, Draco?" She slid into the seat, breathing slightly unsteady from the combination of the hard work of lugging her private library around the school and of irritation. The chatter behind her back, insults about being a know-it-all or whatever unimaginative slur they had moved on to now, none of it was as subtle as they seemed to believe it was. She wasn't listening. _You keep telling yourself that, Hermione_.

"The list."

"The list - seriously? We go to the same school and you still get sent a list of everything I read? Who could you possibly have watching me in the Gryffindor common room?"

He smirked. "I have my sources. How have you had time to reread _Hogwarts: A History_ again?"

"I'm organised. Draco -"

"What? Because if you're going to try to convince me that I don't need to get to know you, again, then -"

"I was _going_ to say, before you interrupted me," he blinked at this; _did I?_ That was odd, as he had never attempted to interrupt anyone else, at any point in his life. "That you could just get to know me by actually asking me. Or getting me to write out my reading schedule for you. That way, you might even be able to keep up."

He didn't have a chance to retort before Professor Snape began to take the register. It didn't escape the notice of either Draco or Hermione that he lingered on Harry Potter the longest, much to their annoyance. _Just like Professor Flitwick_, Hermione was thinking. _Figures_, was all Draco had to say - he hadn't been in that class; Gryffindor first years had Charms with Ravenclaw. "Ah, yes, Harry Potter. Our new - _celebrity_." Draco snorted at that. Hermione shot him a glare that he didn't seem to notice.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach." Hermione had tensed up and moved right to the edge of her seat, Draco could see that. Perhaps it was because Professor Snape had implied that she was thick.

"Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Hermione raised her hand. Draco raised his eyebrows. "I don't know, sir," said Potter.

Snape curled his thin lips into a rather frightening sneer; Draco was glad that he was in Slytherin with the eerie potions master for head of house. At least he'd get favouritism working for him. Hermione's hand was ignored, though, which led to him frowning at the back of the Professor's head. _Ask Hermione. _"Tut, tut - fame clearly isn't everything. Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoars?"

Hermione's hand stretched further, though she didn't quite leave her seat. Draco turned around to watch Potter's face, his eyebrows as high as they could go. He couldn't feel himself trembling, though Hermione would point it out later. _Ask Hermione._

"I don't know, sir."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"

Draco almost felt sorry for Potter, forced to meet Snaps' cold eyes for so long. If he were in any other house, there was a high chance that Snape would drop it. Of course he didn't, though, and of course he continued to ignore Hermione. "What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfs bane?"

Draco whipped around as a bench scraped against the floor; Hermione, seated across the aisle beside Blaise Zabini, had actually gotten to her feet. He gaped openly at her, it not occurring to him to shut his mouth. _What is she doing? Why doesn't he just ask her? _"I don't know," Potter said, so timid it was a wonder he'd ever been made a lion, "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"

A few people laughed as Snape whirled around, stalking back towards the front of the room. "Sit down," he barked at Hermione, and Draco winced at the tone. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfs bane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

Hermione was, of course, and had been since the instant he had stopped asking questions and started talking. Draco picked up his eagle-feather quill as Snape docked a point from Gryffindor for what he dubbed Potter's 'cheek'. Everyone else thought it was quite impressive, apparently.

Things didn't improve as the lesson wore on: only Draco and Hermione managed a successful potion, working with Theodore Nott and Zabini respectively. Draco kept glancing towards her automatically, watching her hands as she worked. Considering she'd never been able to attempt any potion-making processes in the past, she had an impressive comprehension of techniques. After he made this observation, Neville's potion boiled over, Draco had to stop himself from stepping on the hem of Snape's coat when he insulted Hermione's almost flawless technique for the fifth time, and Potter lost more points for 'not cautioning Longbottom'. Even Draco thought that was unfair, though he would rather eat eye of newt than admit it.

"I've noticed we don't have any other classes together."

"You're wrong, actually."

"Excuse me?" She adjusted her hold on the stack of books, eyebrows furrowing. He could imagine how her mind must be churning, trying to explain _that_ unlikely accusation.

"Flying lessons are on Thursday." Draco was absolutely beaming at her. Zabini and Nott snorted from just in front of them; evidently, they found his glee entertaining. "Gryffindor and Slytherin have the same class at three thirty."

Hermione groaned. "Perfect."

"Isn't it?" And then he started chattering about Quidditch again. He didn't notice when Hermione sighed, checking her watch for the time.

"At least there are no more classes I might miss today," she muttered to herself, and headed to the library to return the books she had lugged into class. Draco remained at her side the entire way.

* * *

"Go away." Hermione turned the page in _Quidditch Through the Ages_, reading out another tip. Neville was eating it up, sitting close to her and turning his tiny wrapped package over in his fingers. Draco rolled his eyes, leaning over them and dropping a neatly wrapped package on the table.

Hermione looked over instantly. "What's that?"

"Your winnings."

Her and Neville both looked up at him now, surprised. "What did I win?"

"The bet about whether or not I'd make it so you weren't in a different house."

She frowned. "You took that seriously?"

"Well, yeah. Open your package. I need to know if it's a good choice, or if you'd prefer something else. Mother's note says it was the most expensive one there."

Ah, now she understood. She eagerly tore the plain paper away, positively beaming when she caught sight of the gilded cover. To his eyes, it would seem as though she didn't care that it was fancy - not so; she was merely more interested in the contents, at least for the moment. "_The Rationale Behind the Ministry_. This isn't meant to be out until Christmas! How did you get it?"

Draco shrugged. "Money and mother. She sent it. Does that mean you like it?"

"Like it? Draco, I can't ever pay you back for this."

"Well, you are mine. You'll have everything you could want, anyway, it's not like you didn't before."

"It's a Remembrall!" Draco grimaced at Neville's outburst, leaning over and plucking it out of his hand. Across the table, Harry and Ron jumped to their feet. Hermione grabbed Draco's arm, mostly because she expected him to attack them. It certainly wouldn't be a 'once in a blue moon' occurrence if he picked a fight with Harry Potter and his lackey. She would have snorted, if she wasn't so concerned that he was about to get thoroughly beaten - she'd heard Harry and Ron complaining enough about Draco in the common room to be fully aware of what they would dish out, given the opportunity.

"What's going on?" came McGonagall's voice from directly behind Draco. He scowled as Neville remained silent, letting Ron snap an explanation that was a complete lie.

"Malfoy's nicked Neville's Remembrall."

"He has not!" That was Hermione, narrowing her eyes at the red-head. "He's -"

"Just looking," Draco cut in, stopping the argument before it could start. He turned and left, a single pale student all alone in the masses that filled the hall.

* * *

While they were waiting for their first flying lesson to start, Draco and Hermione stood a little behind Neville. She had started on about the value of a Remembrall: "All they really do is confuse and annoy the owner."

"I suppose I know what to get you for Christmas."

"No, Draco, I'm serious. Poor Neville, he was so worked up over the idea that he'd forgotten something, it distracted him all morning. Professor McGonagall even called him out on it just before lunch, it was awful."

"Potter seems more worried about the thing than Neville, to be honest with you, Hermione. Didn't you notice how he acted at breakfast? He jumped right up. Probably would've thrown himself at me if McGonagall hadn't shown up."

"And good thing, too! Ron's bigger than you, he'd have the advantage in a fight."

"I bet I can get Potter to threaten me first."

She groaned at this suggestion. "Seriously? Do you have to?"

"Are you going to take the bet or not?"

Hermione considered this for a long moment, tilting her head back to look up at the sky. Draco wanted the bet to stick. He thought for a moment, then told her his terms. "I'll ask them to stop sending me the lists if you win."

"Fine. And I'll stop complaining about it if _you_ win."

"Deal."

They shook on it before Madam Hooch ordered them onto their brooms. Less than ten minutes later, the lesson was unofficially over, Neville was on his way to the hospital wing, and Draco had been glared at for laughing. It wasn't that he thought Neville had earned it, it was more that everyone else had been surprised when he panicked: _they mustn't have been paying much attention_, _to be surprised by Neville's failure,_ he thought.

"Did you see his face?" he asked Hermione, referring to the pain-filled relief he'd seen in Neville's eyes and almost grinning. Of course the other Gryffindors' took it badly.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Parvati Patil snapped without hesitating.

"Oh, don't you dare," Hermione shook her head, but she'd spoken too quietly to get anything more than a smirk from Draco. She watched as it faltered when Pansy defended him, switching to an irritated scowl. She was fully aware that this would be a great chance for him to win the bet, especially as he darted forward, grabbing the fallen Remembrall off of the lawn.

"Hey, he dropped this thing." _I'd better give this back when -_

"Give that here, Malfoy," Harry said. Hermione groaned aloud, not that anyone noticed her, except from Draco, who only smiled at her. _I've got this one_, it seemed to say.

"I think I'll be taking this, Potter."

"Give it _here_!"

And Draco mounted his broom, rising up into the sky. Hermione watched in horror as the Gryffindor boy mounted his own broom. "_No_!" He glanced at her, and she quickly realised that she couldn't order him to stay put so that she wouldn't lose a bet with a boy he didn't like at all. "Madam Hooch told us not to move - you'll get us all into trouble."

But then Harry was off, and from the ground it looked absolutely terrifying, at least to Hermione, who hated heights. Draco was of a different opinion, one that had him grinning and missing the horrified stare she fixed on the pair. That smile faltered, though, when Potter said something he didn't like, something that was offensive towards Hermione, an insult that sounded unnatural dripping from the lips of the boy who lived. The Remembrall slipped from his fingertips, and while he found his feet, Potter caught the thing. McGonagall dragged him off quickly.

Draco grimaced as Hermione timidly found her place beside him again. "We should go check on Neville."

"Should we?"

"Yes, certainly. Tell him Harry has his Remembrall. And by the way, you lost the bet."

"I did not!"

"He didn't threaten you, just went after you."

"That's just a detail."

"You lost, Draco. Admit it."

"Details, Hermione!"

* * *

**Challenges: **Lily F. Lux's _English Idioms Challenge_ on HPFC.

**Characters: **Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter.

**Prompt: O**nce in a blue moon.

**Word count: **2,222

**Song: **_She's a Genius_ by JET

**EDITED: **22/02/2015


	6. no shame

_**D****iamonds**_

**o6. no shame**

_She don't feel no shame  
She knows so many pretty boys  
But they are all the same_

* * *

"I can't believe you actually managed to fall off the broom, Neville. Seriously. Weren't you holding on at all? She even showed you how to hold it properly."

"Really? Draco, she never showed me. She spent a while showing _you_, though. And after you were saying how often -"

"Shut up." Draco's cheeks turned pink while Hermione laughed, raising a spoonful of the soup they had brought up from the Great Hall for Neville to her own lips.

"Well, I have to thank you both for getting me out of that."

Draco smirked, unable to resist the temptation of the moment provided. "Oh? Is the great Hermione Granger relieved to have missed a chance to learn something?"

"It's not that! It's just that I would - I'm of the opinion that human beings should keep both feet firmly on the ground. It would be - it just makes more sense. If human beings were meant to fly, evolution would have provided us with wings."

"Evo - what?" Both Neville and Draco looked at her in confusion.

"It's a muggle theory -"

"That says humans today are designed by nature to survive."

"That's ridiculous."

"I didn't say that. Don't look at me like I did, Draco - though that _is_ what it is, more or less."

"You didn't?"

"I'd think the male voice would be a dead giveaway, Malfoy."

At this, the three of them looked towards the door of the hospital wing. Harry Potter stood there, pushing his glasses back up his nose. For the first time since they had started at Hogwarts, he was alone. "You lose the Weasel somewhere, Potter?"

"Shut it. No. He's down at dinner. I wanted to check on Neville."

"We didn't ask why you're here, Harry," Hermione pointed out. She stood up, intending to leave Neville and Harry alone. When Draco didn't move, she paused. "Draco?"

"I refuse to leave because Potter's in the room. He doesn't really need _that_ much space; he can put up with my presence for a few minutes." He had developed a habit of leaving the room whenever his father came in while the two of them were staying at the Manor, in an attempt to avoid a strong feeling he was too young to understand. Potter wasn't his father; he would not treat the so-called 'Boy Who Lived' the same way Lucius Malfoy demanded to be treated.

Hermione was quietly impressed with Draco's choice of words. Neville flinched. Harry, on the other hand, stared at him for a long moment before he shrugged. "Whatever you say, Malfoy. I'm just checking on Neville. You okay, mate?"

Neville blinked blankly at him until Hermione nudged him. At that point, he nodded, cleared his throat, and nodded again. "I'm fine, Madam Pomfrey mended it in about a minute. She told me to stay here and rest, though, and Hermione and Draco came to visit."

"Did they really?"

""Neville _is_ my friend, Harry," Hermione snapped. "Besides, we brought food. See?" She raised the bowl of soup.

"Neville's your friend," he echoed, seeming reluctant. "Really?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Calm down, Draco. He just means that I'm unlikable and have no friends because of it. I've heard Ron Weasley say it more than once - he's not as quiet as he seems to believe he is. Honestly, half the time he seems to be yelling. I'd say it's a wonder nobody has jinxed him, but we haven't learned enough for that to be a real possibility. Not yet, at least."

"Hey, _I'm_ your friend. I'm her friend. You hear me, Potter? She's _got_ friends."

"There's only one of you, Malfoy."

"I was counting Neville, too. You count, don't you?" He shot a look at Neville that said rather clearly what his answer should be. Neville didn't seem to see it, though, as he frowned at Harry.

"Of course we're friends. Hermione's been really nice to me, Harry, and Draco helped me find Trevor on the train."

"Didn't Hagrid find him?"

"I tried, alright? Shouldn't you be getting back to dinner with Weasley?"

"Ron was -"

"Why are you talking to Malfoy?"

Draco, Hermione and Neville each stiffened when the second newcomer spoke. Ron must have followed Harry up to the Hospital Wing, to arrive so soon after. Not surprisingly, his mouth was still full of whatever he had eaten for dinner, muffling his speech. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Hermione grimace. He almost smiled at her inability to prevent herself from letting the whole room know what she was thinking.

The smile died when Ron opened his mouth again.

"What're _you_ doing so close to Neville? If you're trying _anything_ -"

"I _just_ explained myself to your master, Weasel. Ask _him_."

"Draco, be nice. We're visiting Neville. If he's friends with Harry and Ron, they're as welcome as we are."

"Well, apparently that's not actually very welcome."

"Oh, drop it, would you? There's a time and a place and an infirmary isn't it. I'm sorry, Draco, but that's the fact."

Harry had, apparently, said something to Ron, because he'd stopped trying to accuse the bookworm and the snake of any ridiculous plan to harm Neville. He'd even produced the Remembrall, smiled to himself, and tossed it to Neville, who didn't catch it. Draco did, grinning.

"So what's the big deal with this? Your gran sent it, right? Does she think you're going to forget something important?"

"Probably. I'm pretty forgetful."

"It was rather unfair of her to send it, anyway," Hermione chimed in, apparently thinking it was a good time to speak up. "Remembralls are silly joke pruducts designed to confuse and cause distress in whoever holds them. They're like a magical version of a muggle magic-eight ball or an Ouija board; they prey on the gullible. It was rather mean of her to send you one. Even if you _are_ forgetful."

"Oh, shut up, Hermione," Ron snapped, irritated all over again. "Just because you'll be a bloody Malfoy doesn't mean you can go around insulting everyone. Especially not your so-called _friend_ -"

"Ron -"

Draco was on his feet almost immediately, reaching for his wand. "Don't you _dare_ talk about her that way!"

Ron's wand was already out and in his hand, unicorn hair glinting at the tip. "I will fight you right here, Malfoy, just give me a reason."

"_No_," Hermione stood up too, grabbing Draco's arm after his wand was drawn. "Absolutely _not_, Draco, don't you dare -"

"_What are you doing?"_

Neville cringed as the matron came out of her office at last, glaring at the group. Hermione opened her mouth to explain it, but was distracted by Draco lowering his wand, her fingers brushing against his side before she released his arm. _Oh, Merlin, that tickles_.

"He started it," Ron said instantly.

"Get out! Get _out_, all of you, and I'll be calling your Head of House, don't you think I won't! Professor McGonagall _will_ know that her Gryffindors have been fighting in the Hospital Wing!"

"I'm not a Gry -"

"_Out_!"

* * *

"He started it," Ron muttered again. Hermione glared at him.

"Drop it, Ron. All you're going to do is make things worse."

Hermione and Draco were sitting on one armchair, Draco taking the seat and Hermione having perched on the arm after a long moment of staring at him. Ron had shoved the other armchair as far away as he could force it, then had childishly claimed it for himself. Being as tall as he was, when he sprawled out he took up the entire seat. With no room to sit, Harry was left standing in the middle, staring out the window at the grounds.

"I'm not sure that's actually possible," Hermione said, her tone quiet. She was staring at the wall. All this time to get to Hogwarts, and she was going to be expelled, wasn't she? _Maybe if I explain. If I tell the truth, and I tell Professor McGonagall that Draco and Ron were the ones fighting, maybe then I won't be thrown out with them._ Maybe if she did it right, she could even get Draco out of trouble. Not Ron, though. That Ron Weasley was a troublemaker through and through.

Professor Minerva McGonagall strode into the room at that exact moment, muttering a spell and aiming her wand at first one chair, then the other, expanding each into a two-seat sofa. She had tracked them down separately, Harry and Ron in their Common Room, Draco and Hermione in the library. Then she had sent the four of them to her office to wait while she spoke to Poppy Pomfrey and Neville, finding out what had happened. Neville's input was more help than Poppy's, though the poor boy seemed torn between sides. "Ron drew his wand first, but he did it because Draco reached for his after Ron complained about something that Hermione said. I don't understand what. It didn't make sense."

"Why are we all here, Professor?" Draco asked instantly, having moved to the left to let Hermione sit. Minerva wasn't blind to the action, only just managing to stop herself from raising an eyebrow in surprise. _A Malfoy, chivalrous? What a world we live in._

"Mister Malfoy, you are here because you and Mister Weasley saw fit to draw wands on another student - on each other, according to Madam Pomfrey. What is the reason for this?"

"Weasley drew his first," Draco snapped.

"Hermione insulted Neville. Then Malfoy got all defensive and tried to pull his wand on me, so I pulled mine first. That's it." Ron was staring at the wall; it was rather obvious that this was not, in fact, 'it'.

"I did no such thing!" Hermione cried, annoyed. "I was just telling the truth. A Remembrall is a toy for children, not a real magical object, and Neville's easily upset, so of _course_ that's what's going to happen, I was just saying -"

"Miss Granger, please be quiet. It is obvious what the cause of this tension is."

"Yeah, Malfoy's ego."

"At least I can afford to have one, Weasley, not like you."

"Mister Malfoy, Mister Weasley, please! This is because of the circumstances. The arranged marriage."

"What?" Harry said in surprise.

"It is not!" Ron snapped, his tone defensive.

"More likely he's just mad because _his_ one doesn't care about him." As Draco said this, he smirked.

"If it is, Professor, then why is Harry here? He's not caused any trouble." Seeing the look Draco and Ron gave her, she frowned at them both. "What? It's true. He doesn't even talk to me, really, only Ron does that."

"Yeah, by constantly saying awful things. Hermione, you shouldn't have to listen to that."

"I'm old enough to learn magic, Draco, I think I can manage ignoring some bullying."

"Some what?"

"Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy! Honestly," McGonagall looked like she'd rather be anywhere other than where she was, seated at her desk and watching them bicker before the fireplace. "You'd think you were the most immature students of your year, and not the most mature. Stay _quiet_, all of you," she snapped, looking around as if daring them to challenge her. Then she cleared her throat and began again.

"Of course it's about the marriage law. I believe that this is because of the differing circumstances between the four of you. Allow me to try to reduce that difference.

"It was created to apply to all wizards and witches who were not yet old enough to attend Hogwarts, or any other magical institution, at the time. It's largely because the Weasley's are the only pureblood family who have managed to produce as many heirs to their bloodline as the Ministry has deemed 'acceptable'. Mister Malfoy, you're an only child. Many of the children you grew up with are as well. The Ministry believes that this is because of a defect in pureblood geneology. The purebloods were to choose their would-be brides or husbands from a selection of muggle-born and half-bloods who would be in their own year, or the year above. The theory is that this so-called marriage law will increase the rate of magical births to the old families by mixing new blood into the old. The process would involve a pureblood selecting a partner, who would be pulled from future selections so as to avoid scandal. In the future, there would be a ritual - a sort of predecessor to a true magical wedding ceremony. A ring would be given, or a pendant, it was really up to the pureblood in question. There's a spell involved that seals the bond, preventing any deviation. It's old magic, very old. Professor Dumbledore himself helped to research it.

"The unfortunate thing is, most purebloods were unable, or unwilling, to select their partner. A lot of it was arranged through the Ministry instead when it became clear that their planned process would be 'too time-consuming'. They substituted in a process they have since insisted is fair and well-considered but which probably consists more of pulling names out of a hat, so to speak. And the gifting of the ring has been delayed for the less wealthy purebloods, as well, for obvious reasons."

"I picked Hermione," Draco pointed out, "and the Ministry didn't have anything to do with it."

"You would pick the freak," Ron muttered. Draco glared at him and McGonagall shot him a disapproving look. Then she moved her gaze to the Slytherin, her expression calculating. Hermione got the impression that she was trying to decide whether or not he was lying.

"He really did choose me over everyone else there," she defended.

"Everyone knows that Malfoy picked _his_ future wife, Professor. My dad says it was appeasement. Keep Lucius from killing someone."

"_Mister Weasley_," McGonagall snapped. "It would benefit you substantially to develop some form of self-control. As it is, that may be so. Miss Granger is marked as a future Malfoy, regardless of the circumstances. It does not change who she would be without that ring. Does it, Miss Granger?"

Hermione started, not expecting to be addressed directly. She answered nonetheless, eager, as ever, to be the know-it-all. "I don't know for sure, of course, but I believe I'm the same. I probably have more books. I know I have more knowledge of the Wizarding world than I would have without Draco sending me these books."

"Precisely. I advise you stop treating her as though she is some form of outsider, Mister Weasley, especially as she is a student in your house alongside you and Mister Potter! And Mister Potter, I expect you to ensure Mister Weasley remains civil, if nothing else."

"Yes, Professor." Harry hesitated, "Do I have one? A match?"

"I believe so, Mister Potter. It would have been selected at random, however, as Mister Weasleys' must have been."

"I see. Thank you."

"You are, each of you, dismissed. Hurry back to your dormitories, it's past curfew."

That had them bolting. Draco found his way back to the Slytherin common room quickly, as there were only two floors between McGonagall's first-floor office and the dungeons.

The three Gryffindors had six floors to travel through. On their way, they almost ran into Filch, the caretaker, and his eerie cat, Mrs Norris. Then they came upon a locked door, which Hermione was able to open swiftly, revealing the monstrous secret beyond.

"It was standing on a trap door," Hermione snapped, "guarding something, obviously. Now, if you don't mind, I'd prefer it if nothing changed between us, Ron, except for you to stop insulting me behind my back when I can obviously hear you. It's clear that befriending the two of you is just too much trouble."

She left the words hanging over them as she bounded up the stairs to her dormitory. Merlin, was she exhausted after the chaos of a not-quite flying lesson.

* * *

**Challenges: **Lily F. Lux's _English Idioms Challenge_ on HPFC

**Characters: **Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley, Harry Potter, Minerva McGonagall, Poppy Pomfrey.

**Promt: D**ead giveaway.

**Word count: **2,588

**Song: **_She's a Genius_ by JET

**A/N: **I apologise if the conversation with McGonagall makes no sense. I'll be editing it soon, but I was trying to think it through before sleeping at this point. If I stopped, I'd have definitely lost track of things.

**EDITED: **27/01/2015


	7. prayers and proclamations

_**D**_**iamonds**

**o7. prayers and proclamations**

_It talks in tongues and quiet sighs,  
And prayers and proclamations  
In the grand days of great men and the smallest of gestures_

* * *

Hermione was reading the book Draco had his mother purchase. _The Rationale Behind the Ministry_ was frustratingly vague on several matters, largely things involving Quidditch. It was incredibly specific on others, including how the Wizarding War had begun against You-Know-Who over a decade ago - suffice to say, it involved manipulation of Ministry corruption.

Towards the end, en entire chapter explained the decision to enforce a marriage law in the younger population of pure-bloods. It was to prevent blood status based rivalry, mostly, though the concern for the reduction in the wizarding population, at least when compared to that of muggles, was genuine. England alone had over 48 million residents, less than 100,000 of whom were magical. Less than one per cent, Hermione calculated. Less than 0.25 per cent, even. England's population of magical people was third highest in the world, too, after the United States and China. No wonder they were worried about a reduction in population - the same amount of wizards were alive today as had been when the Ministry of Magic was first founded.

She was re-reading the chapter for the sixth time the morning that Harry Potter received his first ever package. This didn't bother her - she wasn't speaking to them after they dragged her into a _forbidden_ corridor with a _three-headed dog_, but she refused to begrudge them their own happiness. Glancing up as they hurried out of the hall, she saw that it was long and thin, close to being longer than she was tall. She grimaced. _Broom. Figures that Harry Potter would manage to get rewarded for breaking the rules._

Her annoyance faded when she saw a familiar blond leave his seat. "I'll see you in Charms," she told Neville, quickly collecting her things and walking as fast as she could towards the door. Maybe if she hurried, she could prevent a second Wizarding War.

" - Save up, twig by twig," Draco was sneering at Ron. Hermione almost groaned aloud at the frustrating repetitiveness of it all.

"Please tell me you're not fighting _again_," she snapped.

"What's it matter to you, know-it-all? Don't want your boyfriend getting beaten?"

"Oh, grow up, Ron. We're in the same House, in case you've forgotten. I don't have some ridiculous issue with you doing whatever you like to get _yourself_ thrown out, but at _least_ have the sense to do it where a teacher can't walk in at any moment and decide to punish all three of you! _Honestly_, you'd think you were raised in a barn!"

"What's _that_ supposed to mean? You saying something about my family?" Ron stepped towards Hermione, trying to seem intimidating as he glared at her. She folded her arms to stand her ground, only to have Draco step in front of her and glare right back. At the same time, Harry grabbed Ron's arm to hold him back.

"Muggle expression. Means you've got bad manners," he said quickly. Hermione almost wanted to thank him, but was able to restrain herself when Professor Flitwick paused alongside them.

"I hope none of you are causing trouble again," he squeaked. Apparently, Poppy Pomfrey had let the entire body of staff know what had happened in the hospital wing. This was the dozenth time Hermione alone had heard it referenced, and she had no idea if Draco heard it just as much. If she had, she'd know that Slytherin students had started in on him regarding it, too. Apparently, the fact that the Malfoy name had let him choose, while everyone else had been assigned someone at random, was a _big deal_. He didn't see how - it wasn't like it was the first time he'd been provided with something no one else had.

"Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor," Draco was quick to throw in, ignoring Hermione as she pinched him to try to make him stop talking.

"Yes, yes, that's right. Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Mister Potter. And what model is it?"

Draco was aghast, more so when Harry smiled at the Professor. "A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir. And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it."

Flitwick beamed at each of them before heading to the staircase to find his way to his own classroom. Hermione shoved Draco slightly, making him stumble to the side. "I suppose you think this is some sort of reward, then, for breaking the rules?"

"Why are you even speaking to us? You've been giving us the silent treatment all week."

"Yes, don't stop now. It's doing us so much good."

"I challenge _you_ to say that when you doubtlessly manage to fail _another_ basic spell, Ronald Weasley. You can't even get a feather to explode when you try, and _that's_ as basic as it gets! If you _must_ know, I was stopping in to see if any of you would be smart enough to try and make amends. I can see _that_ is about as likely as snow in July!"

She stormed off up the stairs, heaving her bag with her. The three boys watched her go, before Draco glanced at the Gryffindors. Then he turned to go back into the Great Hall.

"Where d'you think you're going?"

"Find Neville, not that it's any business of yours."

"Why? So you can bother him, too?"

"Actually, Weasley," he looked directly at Harry as he spoke, "it's so I can ask him to make sure you don't do anything to Hermione. She didn't ask for this." He meant their animosity, but Harry and Ron shared a look when he left. Malfoy knew other people could make choices? _Unbelievable_.

* * *

Before any of them really stopped to think about the passage of time, Halloween was upon them. They knew this because castle had been done up to look every bit as frightening as the darkest dungeons, decorated with live bats and jack-o-lanterns that seemed to stalk them and cobwebs so large that, for a real spider to make them, it would have to have been at least the size of a motorcycle.

Of course, with Halloween came Charms class, and with Charms class came levitation spells. Hermione had been very much looking forward to these, as it fit so well with her pre-marriage law idea of magic. Flying objects was one of the many reasons she had read through so many Charms books, despite her love for Transfiguration, which was, by far, the more challenging of the two classes.

The only problem was that Professor Flitwick enjoyed pairing up the students himself. In Potions, she'd never experience this problem - she alternated between working with Blaise Zabini, a dark Slytherin boy who seemed to get on quite well with Draco, Draco himself, and Neville, who most of their classmates were afraid to work with following the boil disaster of their first lesson. In History of Magic and Transfiguration, they worked alone, and in Herbology, the groups were so large she never had to speak to half of the students she'd been assigned to work with. After two weeks of peace and quiet, she supposed it was only fair that it ended.

But, all the same, did the tiny Professor _have_ to pair her with Ron? Couldn't he have chosen Harry Potter and his ridiculous scar? At least _he_ wouldn't have been _deliberately_ thick.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

Hermione flinched away from his frantic wand waving, not willing to put herself in the line of fire. All the same, if he kept this up, he'd probably end up killing someone, or at least maiming them. "You're saying it wrong." She was fully aware that she sounded angry; that was because she was. She felt somebody look at her, and knew it was Neville without looking, since he kept doing that. He was watching her awfully closely lately - at least it wasn't distracting. "It's Wing-_gar_-dium Levi-_o_-sa, make the 'gar' sound nice and long."

"_Fine_," Ron snarled at her, throwing his wand down on the table, "_you_ do it, then, if you're so bloody clever."

She rolled her eyes and pushed up her sleeves, gracefully raising her wand. _Swish and flick_. "_Wingardium Leviosa_!" She smiled as the feather rose over her head, a small thrill of pride shooting down her spine. _Imagine if I'd gotten it wrong, what an idiot I would have seemed!_

Leaving the class a long half an hour later, Ron had apparently decided it was time to stop pretending that she didn't exist. "No wonder no one can stand her. She's a nightmare, honestly."

She scowled at the back of his head, shoving between him and Harry. "Move it," she snapped, her voice cracking. _No, no, no, don't cry, it doesn't matter, they're just a couple of boys_ -

"I think she heard you." At least Harry sounded concerned as she bolted for the corner.

"So?"

Behind them, Neville stared in disappointment. He'd never have guessed that Harry would let Ron carry on with the bullying - he'd seemed so nice, at least on the train. Like he was shy or something.

He didn't go to lunch. He went to find his one other friend.

* * *

"Hermione? You in here? Because if you aren't, you aren't in any girls toilets and I look like an idiot for listening to Neville." Neville had found Draco on the staircase between the Charms and Transfiguration classrooms. Neville had gone back to his classes - after Draco had convinced him to do so, based on the fact that they had Potions after lunch and Snape already hated him enough. The Gryffindor hadn't wanted to leave Draco to search alone, since the castle was so huge and Hermione was his friend, too. But Snape _was_ terrifying, and he didn't want detention already.

Draco didn't get an answer, but he did hear what sounded like someone crying. He almost turned right around and left, except he'd never seen a girl cry before and curiosity got the better of him.

"Hermione, open the door or I'll unlock it and come on in anyway. Just let me in." He listened to the muffled sounds of movement for a moment, before the toilet door opened. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying so much, her nose red from her having wiped it so much. As he looked on, she tried to use her already soaked sleeve to wipe away some more tears. _Not a good look for her_.

"S-sorry. I'm j-just being such an idiot, Draco."

"This is all over the _Weasel_? Neville said..."

"He said s-something mean, that's all. I don't know w-why it made me cry. They're i-idiots, aren't they?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Are you going to go to Potions?"

"N-no. I can't. I don't want th-them to see that they got to me."

Draco sighed, not wanting to stay there. What choice did he have, though? He didn't want anyone to see that Potter and the Weasel had reduced her to this, either. So he slipped into the cubicle alongside her and closed the door carefully. "Tell me about what book you're reading."

"Don't you a-already know?"

"I lost the bet, remember? I can't. A Malfoy's word is his worth."

She smiled.

* * *

Draco's stomach grumbled hours later, interrupting. The two were still laughing over his uncoordinated scrambling to hide his feet when one of the Patil twins, the one Hermione identified as Parvati, had come in earlier. She'd asked if Hermione was okay. Hermione had sounded like she was being strangled when she had answered that she just wanted to be alone, and the twin had stayed where she was. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure, Parvati. Go on. I'll be fine."

"Alright... if you're sure," Parvati had said, and then left her alone. Draco had slipped off the toilet seat at that moment, barely stopping himself from yelling out in pain when his head his the wall. Now he was in pain, but the two were happy enough. There was no longer any sign on Hermione's face to suggest that Potter and Weasley had bothered her at all.

"Oh, you're starving. It must be time for dinner," Hermione reasoned, wiping her eyes. They were tears of laughter, though, so this was okay, at least as long as Draco knew _he_ had been the cause of them. "You should head down."

"I'm not going down there if you're staying here," he said. It seemed gallant, really, or chivalrous or considerate. Really, he was just hoping that he would be able to brag about this later. _I helped a girl to stop crying. Bet the Weasel's never done _that_ before_. Even if only Neville listened, he'd be pleased. Hell, he'd take bragging to Zabini over this, he seemed to like Hermione well enough.

"I can't ask you to do that, Draco," she smiled, "and anyway, I'm not hungry."

"No, you're starving. You didn't have lunch, either, Hermione, so you _have_ to be at least as hungry as I am. So you should really just give in and let me have this one. You can sit with me."

"At the Slytherin table?"

"What, do you want to invite Neville as well? I'm not sure I like that idea."

She smirked back at him, holding out a hand to help him up. "But Neville's so _nice_, Draco, how could you not?"

"He's always around you."

"He's in the same House as me." She was laughing at him, but Draco didn't really mind, not at that moment. He watched as she opened the door and moved to the sink to splash water on her face, grinning all the while. He probably looked like a bit of an idiot, but if it was time for dinner, then he had just spent a good six hours getting to know Hermione - just like she'd wanted him to. _Maybe it's not so bad to be the one who's trying_, he mused.

His smile faltered as he pressed his hand against his nose. "Oh, Merlin, what's that smell?"

"What're you - oh, that's _disgusting_, Draco!"

"What? I didn't -" he whipped around, staring at the door. He'd heard something, he was _certain_ of it. "Holy mother of -"

It was twelve feet tall, grey as rock and lumpy as a beaten pillow. It smelt like a garbage dump. And he had no idea where it had come from, except that it had wandered through the door.

"_Duck_!"

He only moved at all because Hermione slammed into him, falling back against the tiled wall. She cringed into herself, rolling out of the way of the flailing club. "Draco - _Draco_ -"

Then the door was clicked shut. Hermione said something her mother had once said when he'd hammered his thumb while trying to hang a painting. Then she pulled Draco again, lugging him like a toy as she shrieked aloud, her voice higher than she'd thought it could go. "_Don't hurt him!_"

The door opened just as quickly as it had closed, and Hermione watched as Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, of all people, charged inside. _Of all the times for a teacher to not be listening!_ she cried to herself.

"Confuse it!" came Harry's order, throwing something at the troll. It stopped moving. Hermione pulled Draco close, shifting so she was between him and the monstrous thing, terrified. She'd read about these things, these _trolls_, in a history of Gringotts, the wizards bank. They had once beaten a man and his child to death over a misunderstanding. The book said that the bones had been crushed into powder, blood and skin and organs oozing together in a foul, ugly mess.

Hermione didn't want to die like _that_. Not when the thing had caught her off guard!

Harry was tugging at her arm, trying to make her move, but she shook her head. "Come on, run, _run_!

She wanted to tell him to stop yelling, that he was only making the troll angrier, but she couldn't quite manage to speak. Hand shaking, she pointed towards the troll. It had turned around, raising its' club to strike at Ron, who had nowhere to run.

_Oh, no_.

Harry's hand was suddenly gone, and she fell back closer to Draco, shaking him wildly. She needed him on his feet, because he was too heavy to move, and she certainly wasn't about to leave him there at the mercy of a _troll_, of all things. He was her friend, and though she'd never really had any friends besides books, she figured the same general logic applied. _Stay with your friends, no matter what. _She stopped very suddenly - Draco was staring at something over her shoulder, gaping at it. And it wasn't _just_ the troll, she discovered quickly.

Harry had, apparently, decided that physical assault was the best way to go. He was currently hanging from around the neck of the troll like a small boy-shaped scarf, one that went unnoticed by the wearer. But it had stopped moving towards Ron anyway, twisting and turning as it tried to see what on earth had happened. _But why did it stop?_

That was when she noticed Ron, visible from around the troll. He wore a mixed expression of terror, awe and disgust. His mouth was working, saying something over and over again. It took a minute for her to realise that Draco was saying it, too.

"His wand. Bloody hell, his _wand_."

As it turned out, Harry had shoved his wand right up the trolls ugly great nose. The troll was flailing its' club, Hermione was too focused on Draco to help. Draco himself was only just regaining his senses, scrambling to his feet. Ron was the only one with a wand.

_"Wingardium Leviosa_!"

Magic tore the club out of the things' stumpy fingers, floating towards the ceiling. It was weirdly soothing, actually, the slow movement of the club as it rotated gradually through the air.

And then it fell.

It did not bounce off the trolls head like some comic, but neither did it cause any visible damage. There was a crack louder than the one Hermione remembered from the day she'd learned the truth of magic. Then the troll plummeted forwards. Ron only barely managed to dive out off the way, before it came down exactly where he had been standing.

All four of them stared at it for a long minute of complete and total silence. None of them could quite believe what had happened.

"Tell me it's dead," Draco croaked. He cleared his throat and glared half-heartedly at Harry when he shook his head, moving to reclaim his wand.

"Probably just knocked out."

"Harry's right," Hermione said in a small voice, though she hated it. "I've read about trolls. They're nearly invulnerable to physical damage. Especially from... from..."

"A bunch of first-years?" Ron offered this. He sounded like he was speaking through a mouthful of blood, his voice was so muffled.

"Yes."

Just then, all four of them heard the sound of running footsteps, and three teachers skidded to a stop in the doorway, staring at the wreckage, the victim, and the survivors. Professor McGonagall looked like she had run all the way up from the dungeons, while Professor Snape's gait was uneven and unbalanced. Professor Quirrell looked as though he were on the verge of a heart attack. Hermione could only imagine what they were thinking - nothing she came up with was polite.

"What on earth were you thinking? You're lucky you weren't killed! Why aren't you in your dormitory - dormitories?"

McGonagall was furious, and Snape didn't seem much happier. He gave Harry a cursory examination, then looked past him. If the professor was surprised to see his favourite Slytherin still holding hands with the Gryffindor know-it-all, he hid it well.

"Please, Professor McGonagall - it was my fault."

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione looked as though she were in pain. "I was talking to Draco in the library and lost track of time. When we came out and saw the troll, we didn't really think. We ran for it. Right in here. I didn't think about it, but it's a dead end. I'm sorry. The troll - it's rather - it - there's a lot of damage. Obviously. I didn't mean to suggest - sorry." She shrunk back, almost as though she were trying to hide behind Draco. He kept a tight hold on her hand. Apparently, there would be no hiding from her lies.

"If Harry and Ron hadn't found us, we'd probably be dead now. Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't - there was no time to fetch help. It was about to - to kill Draco and I when they arrived."

Harry and Ron were both staring at Hermione. They couldn't believe she had lied.

"Well - in that case - why were you talking to Mister Malfoy?"

"Potions homework," she said quickly. "And a book we've both read." Technically, that was true. They just hadn't been in the library when either of those topics had come up.

"In the future, Miss Granger, refrain from this - ridiculous attempt to hide. A bathroom? Honestly, I'd have expected better from you."

"Yes, Professor. Sorry, Professor."

"Right, well - Mister Potter, Mister Weasley, what were _you_ thinking?"

"We couldn't let her die, Professor," Harry said honestly. He didn't mention that they'd only known she was there because Parvati knew where she'd run after Ron made her cry.

"Right, well - five points to each of you. Including Mister Malfoy. For sheer luck." Professor McGonagall shook her head in disbelief. "Go to your dormitories, all of you. The feast is being finished in the common rooms."

None of them saw fit to argue. A look was passed between the four of them, a silent promise that this wouldn't be the end of this event. Doubtless it'd continue in the future, when they could all think straight or weren't shaking like a leaf.

All the same, Hermione felt bad. She lingered in the hall, watching Draco go in the opposite direction, alone. He always seemed to be alone when he wasn't with her.

* * *

**Challenges: **Lily F. Lux's _English Idioms Challenge_ on HPFC.

**Characters: **Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley, Harry Potter, Minerva McGonagall.

**Prompt: M**ake amends.

**Word count: **3,703

**Song: **_All This and Heaven Too_ by Florence and the Machine.

**A/N: **I didn't expect this to get quite as long as it did, but I had a lot of fun with it anyway. I hope the twist on the canon Halloween event makes sense - I know this is AU, but a lot of the plot points in the books, especially the earlier ones, are still likely to put in an appearance. Obviously some things can't (Harry believing that Malfoy is the heir of Slytherin, anyone?), but I'm still trying to work out a way to portray the canon plot - at least for now.


	8. can't seem to command it

**_D_iamonds**

**o8. can't seem to command it**

_But with all my education I can't seem to command it  
And the words are all escaping, and coming back all damaged_

* * *

Hermione didn't get the conversation she wanted until that Saturday. She had essentially managed to convince Harry to bring Ron to meet her and Draco in the library after his Quidditch game. She was busy with a rewrite of the essay Professor Flitwick had assigned them on enchanted fire and couldn't make the game, or at least that was what she had told them.

Really, she was researching Magical relations - specifically bonding rituals and historical connections to power. Apparently, the Malfoys' were a big deal, now and in earlier times, dating all the way back to the Norman Conquest of England in 1066. Armand Malfoy was gifted with land in payment by William the Conqueror for services rendered. She had no idea what those services were. Given the time frame and the King, it was probably related to warfare.

"Constantly close to power," she murmured, running her pen down the list of names she'd written, connecting Malfoy patriarchs to whoever called the shots at the time. Abraxas, who helped William I claim power, remained close to him all his life. The first Lucius, alive in the mid-1500s, supposedly attempted to woo Elisabeth I, the famously unwed Queen. And then Brutus had the ear of the first Minister for Magic, Ulick Gamp. And the trend continued. "And I'm not even a princess," she mused, tempted to laugh.

"No, seriously, what the hell was going on up there, Potter? You looked like you were trying to dance with your broom. Badly. Does that mean I should stay away from any Nimbus Two Thousands and stick to my Comet?"

"No way, Malfoy," Ron snapped. There was something odd about his tone, though - no animosity. _Like a boy talking about sports_, Hermione thought to herself. Neville followed them in, grimacing.

"Harry's broom got jinxed. Parvati's sister, Padma, Ravenclaw, she said so. She suggested so to Professor Flitwick and it stopped right then and there." He grinned at last. "But Harry caught the snitch! Gryffindor beat Slytherin!"

"Congratulations," she said, amused. She gestured for everyone to take a seat around the table she had settled in at, moving a stack of books from the chair beside her. Draco took that seat, while Neville claimed the end of the table.

"No, Hermione, you're meant to cheer or something. The _other_ Houses congratulate you, you're a Gryffindor after all." Draco was trying not to laugh, pulling a book towards himself to look through. In the mean time, Harry and Ron took the seats across from them, but didn't pull back towards the desk. Hermione really had her work cut out for her. _I should lower my expectations._

"Why am I meant to cheer? I don't care."

"See, _this_ is why you're only friend is the school bully and the wimp. No offense, Neville."

"What?" Neville seemed genuinely confused.

"Ron. I don't understand why you're so insistent on claiming that Draco's mean. Really, the only person to have insulted me at all since we got on the train is _you_."

"I -"

"Never mind. I have an offer for you."

"Oh, this'll be good."

She rolled her eyes. "It has to do with you and Harry leaving me alone. And Draco. And Neville obviously gets a pass, it's hardly his fault that I'm not good enough for you and Draco's not whoever you want him to be."

Ron's ears turned pink. "That's not what I meant. That's not what I've ever meant! Of course you're not - you're not _not_ good enough. I mean-"

Neville was staring at him. "Even _I_ think you just shoved your foot in your mouth, Ron. Maybe let Hermione speak?"

"We never - I didn't - why are you here? Why is Neville here?"

"Neville's my impartial observer. An outsider. He's not in this silly war you've started, Ron Weasley, so he can decide if what I have to suggest is fair."

"I'm your what? Hermione, I don't think -"

"Too late, Neville, she already nominated you," Draco leant forward so he could see him past the books. "What were you doing here, Hermione, trying to find every single book in this place? This one's about William I. Couldn't you study this at home?"

"I've been reading, Draco. Now, my suggestion. I _suggest_ that you quit trying to bully me into agreeing with you, or stopping talking to my friends, or corrupting Neville or whatever it is you think I'm doing."

"Corrupting me? I thought you said I was an outsider!"

"You are, Neville, don't worry. I'm not trying to change you at all. Ron, however, thinks I am. He seems to have convinced himself that I'm an agent of the dark side or something ridiculous like that, and quite frankly, I cannot see why he does."

"Alright, then, I guess that's fair enough. Why _do_ you think these things, Ron?"

The Weasley flinched, looking up at Neville. Obviously, he hadn't expected the meekest Gryffindor in living history to agree with Hermione's word. "Why do I think what? That Malfoy's a git? Because he is."

"What have I _ever_ done to you, Weasley?"

"Insulted my family. Insulted Harry. Said I was poor."

"You _are_ poor," Hermione pointed out. "Compared to the Malfoy's wealth, the entirety of England is poor. Let that put you into perspective."

His ears were a dull shade of red now, transformed by embarrassment from their usual pastiness. "I don't think that's what he meant when he said it."

"Can you prove that?"

"No," he muttered. Hermione smiled smugly.

"And that's why you're going to leave us alone."

"Because I don't have proof that Malfoy's a jerk?"

"No." She leant forward. "Because I know what you really did on Halloween. That troll? The door closed behind it. Draco mentioned it a few days ago, he thought it was odd. After all, a common mountain troll like the one released shouldn't have the mental ability to understand how doors work, let alone to think to close them. Somebody else obviously did it." Harry and Ron had both turned very white. She was still smiling, pretending that she hadn't noticed the stunned expressions on the faces of Draco and Neville. "I think you both know exactly what I think happened that night."

"You can't possibly know that," Harry said, his tone of surprise. He was the one who spoke, because Ron looked as though he was struggling to find any word at all. "There's no way."

"It's basic logic, Harry. I know you don't seem to like me all that much, but you have to have noticed by now. Logic is how I work. It's who I am. This is the logical thing to do."

"_Blackmail us_?" Ron finally sputtered.

Hermione watched as his face turned as red as his ears. "You haven't given me a choice, Ron Weasley. Now. My terms are simple: you leave me alone and stop insulting me when you think I cannot hear, because obviously I can. You stop talking about Draco like he's the Devil - I can assure you, he's harmless, and any concern you have for me is obviously an act to give your feelings a reason to exist. _And_ you leave Neville alone, should he choose to remain friends with us. Frankly, it's none of your business. In return, we will leave the both of you alone, _and_ I'll 'forget' Halloween. All it costs is your focus."

"That's not much of a deal!"

"It's not much of a deal for _you_. Ron Weasley, I have decided that you are not a likable person. You're a bully. I never have liked bullies. Harry and Neville probably know what I mean, but if a victim finds a way to stand up to a bully, they take it. They don't hesitate. It's the only way to save themselves."

"I don't like it."

"It's blackmail. You're not supposed to. Neville, is this fair enough?"

Neville was clearly thinking that she hadn't been honest when she had said that he wasn't really involved. "It stops everyone from getting picked on."

"That's its purpose. Draco?"

"What? It's fine by me." He was distracted with staring at her, though he quickly pretended as though he hadn't been staring, shocked that she could be so... well, _Slytherin_. It was incredibly impressive - and a little intimidating. "You could've asked me first, though."

"As you've pointed out, Draco, I'm yours. I figured you'd claim credit for any ideas I came up with, anyway." She almost rolled her eyes again, looking back at the boys across the table. Ron looked like he had just swallowed a lemon. Harry lifted his glasses and rubbed his eye.

"Deal," Harry said. When Ron turned to glare at him, he shrugged. "I can't go back to the Dursley's, Ron, not after this. And if she tells a teacher, that's what's going to happen. If we're lucky. I don't know what the punishment for _that_ is, do you?"

Ron growled under his breath, before begrudgingly holding his hand out so that they could shake on it. Neville watched as they did so, fidgeting with a piece of paper Hermione had left on the table, just one page of her notes on the Malfoy family. She watched as the two Gryffindors walked away.

"What _did _they do?" Neville asked, his tone one of worry. "If they tried to hurt you -"

"They didn't do it on purpose, I'm sure. They're not the type of people who would do that."

"Try to do what?"

She looked at Draco. "Haven't you worked it out yet?"

"Sure I have. I'm just making sure you weren't bluffing."

"Liar," she said. Then she grinned. "I bet you can't work it out before the Transfiguration essay on the ethics of transifiguring live creatures is due."

"That's Wednesday, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"What do I win when I work it out?"

"_If_ you work it out, you can ask me three questions and I will answer them completely honestly. Any questions at all. If you _don't_ work it out, then you answer three of my questions. Unless you're chicken."

Draco had no clue what that meant, but it sounded insulting. He narrowed his eyes at her. "You're on."

* * *

**Challenge: **Lily F. Lux's _English Idioms Challenge_ on HPFC.

**Characters: **Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley, Harry Potter.

**Prompt: H**ave your work cut out.

**Word count: **1,703

**Song: **_All This and Heaven Too_ by Florence and the Machine.

**A/N: **Much shorter than the last too-long 3,000 word plus chapter, but then again, I didn't get too carried away. This is why I used the troll; I wanted to kill a few birds with one stone. Several of you have mentioned that the troll was way too canon for an AU, and I agree that I got carried away with it. This is why it's here, though (bonus points if you can remember what happened in the Philosophers' Stone that Hermione is using to blackmail Ron and Harry): to set the line between the two groups, but hopefully put a stop to the incessant insults. I hate writing a manipulative Hermione or a bullying Ron (that second part might be a lie, since I do it so much) and I wanted to get both out of the way as soon as possible.


	9. such treatment

**_D_iamonds**

**o9. such treatment**

_it doesn't deserve such treatment  
And all of my stumbling phrases never amounted to anything worth this feeling_

* * *

"So, what did your girlfriend do?"

"Future wife," Draco corrected automatically. It was the final class of Tuesday afternoon, and he'd yet to solve Hermione's riddle. Saying that he was tense would be an understatement. "Pass me the asphodel, would you?"

Blaise Zabini's dark fingers slid across the pitted wood of their shared table, scooped up the handful of powdered root and dumped it on the desk in front of Draco. "I'm just saying, she's getting a lot of glares. More than usual. She must have done something to annoy the Gryffindors."

"I need the measure. Pass it over."

Blaise did as he asked, then tapped the desk, drumming out a familiar tune. Draco flicked a glance towards his fingers, frowning at the other Slytherin. "Is that Celestina Warbeck?"

"My mother had _You Stole My Cauldron, But You Can't Have My Heart_ on repeat for six months before I got my Hogwarts letter. It grows on you after the first three." The tapping didn't stop. "No, I really want to know, Draco. Why is Potter's pet glaring at her?"

"He won't be glaring at her once I have a free hand to pick up my wand," Draco muttered under his breath. "Can I have that knife?"

The knife exchanged hands, and Blaise stopped tapping. "You know, it's funny how fond you are of her. I mean, what with the Malfoy name meaning what it means."

"What's that?"

"Bad faith, mostly. The stories I heard all said your family were quite fond of muggle royalty until the Statute of Secrecy went through. After a whole lot of fuss over Merlin knows what, probably not wanting to change his social habits, Titus Malfoy was slain, Brutus took over the family, and suddenly muggles were hated and always had been - at least that's what he and everyone he knew said. So the Malfoy's are supposed to be muggle-hating traitors."

"She's not a muggle, she's a muggle-born. Bit of a difference. Where's the pestle?"

Blaise slipped the pestle out of the sleeve of his robe, looking up to see Draco's raised eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing." The blonde took the pestle and applied it to the mortar, grinding the asphodel more finely.

"That's what I thought. Anyway, about Hermione."

If the chairs at the potions table would allow it, Blaise would have been spinning slightly, turning back and forth. Just the idea of it was enough to annoy his partner. "Think this is fine enough?"

"You're the one who's obsessed with beating your girlfriend at Potions."

"Future wife."

"Bless you, you think it matters. Ha! What did she do?" Blaise was technically a migrant. He'd been raised in Venice for years, then Paris, and then Madrid, and had only moved to London six months prior to receiving his Hogwarts letter: his entire knowledge of the Malfoys was based on what his mother remembered from meeting Narcissa and Lucius at a few parties before she moved to Italy to be with her fourth husband. Perhaps it was this that lead to Draco befriending the dark-skinned boy. Or perhaps Draco was more tempted by things that would cause him grief than was healthy.

Either way, he sighed and explained quickly about the blackmail, leaving out the reason, largely because he didn't know it yet. All the while, he worked away at the potion, determined to beat Hermione. And that would not count if Professor Snape was the one who declared his Vitamix Potion better, because he already knew he was being treated with favourism.

Blaise listened to the story, his face impassive. When it ended, he grinned. "I didn't think she had it in her. Just remember that what goes around often comes back around."

"I have no idea what that means. Pass me a vial, would you? This is done."

"Muggle expression; it's saying that the key to revenge is giving as good as you get." He leaned over to rummage through his bag, then pulled it onto the desk to look closer. "I don't have a vial."

"Check my bag. And hurry up, I need to keep my wand on this until you do, or the entire thing will be ruined."

Blaise moved to do as he was told, getting up to retrieve the bag from the other side of the desk. This left him crouching in the aisle between Draco, who had sweat on his forehead, and Hermione, who looked as calm as his mother did when faced with another dead husband. Theodore Nott passed Hermione a vial as Blaise searched for his own. Draco watched his movements for a long moment before finally looking at Hermione. That was when it clicked. "What did you say?"

"I can't see any vials. What's this?" Blaise pulled out an envelope, raising it. Draco didn't notice.

"About that ridiculous expression. The muggle one."

" You mean 'what goes around comes around'? The key to revenge is giving as good as you get."

Draco was still grinning when he waited for Hermione to grab her bag at the end of the lesson. He knew that Neville was waiting for them so that they could go for a walk outside, just like they had planned at lunch, at his own encouragement. It was that or let Hermione study and get harder to beat in class. The walk was better for them.

"Blaise took off running," Hermione observed, looking through her bag one last time to check she had everything she needed. "Did you scare him?"

"Maybe. I know what happened."

"Well, I'd hope so, Draco." She looked up at him, absently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You _were_ sitting next to him all lesson, after all."

"You know what I mean."

"Do I?"

"I know what you used to get Potter to agree with your deal."

"And what, pray tell, did I use?"

"The door. The troll didn't close it."

Hermione hummed in agreement, nodding once. The strand of hair she'd just shifted out of her face, falling exactly where it had been before she'd bothered moving it.

"Potter and Weasley did."

She hummed again, shouldering her bag. Her smile was one of pride - apparently, she was pleased that he had finally come to the conclusion she wanted him to.

"_And they locked the door_."

She stared at him for a long moment, still smiling, before finally nodding. "It's about time you worked it out, Draco. I mean, Halloween _was_ on Thursday. You definitely know how to make a dramatic finale, don't you?"

He laughed at her, grinning still, before grabbing her wrist. "Come _on_, Neville's waiting."

* * *

After dinner, Hermione dragged both him and Neville to the library. She set them all up at her usual table around Blaise and Theo, who had taken to sitting at the end as they worked, and pulled all three essays for tomorrows Transfiguration class towards her.

"Ethic_s_ of the Transiguration of living creatures, Neville," she corrected instantly, circling it and adding an _S_ with the pen she'd taken from Draco's hands. He stammered some apology for the mistake as she continued to read through it, correcting errors in his grammar and making little notes he might add to improve his theory.

She kept discussing the essay with Neville, who seemed fine with it, essentially ignoring Draco as he leaned back in his seat. Her not paying attention was fine with him, at least for a few minutes, as she could be incredibly bossy while she edited. And it wasn't that it wasn't fun arguing with her - it certainly made writing the essay to start with a lot more entertaining - but she _always won_. Sometimes, he missed being first. He _was_ taking full credit for her successes, though, she had been right to say he would - why shouldn't he, when it was him that supplied the information by buying her all the books?

"What was in that envelope?"

"What envelope?"

"The one that was in your bag, _genio_. The one I found while looking for a vial?"

"Oh!" Draco moved quickly, grabbing his bag. Hermione shot him a disapproving stare, as did Theo from beside Blaise, while Draco emptied the satchel onto the table. The envelope looked like parchment, which was odd, since wizarding England had adopted muggle tools after the Wizarding War. Writers were fond of typewriters, students of ballpoint pens, and artists of pencils. Draco in particular liked paper, because it was light and thin, and could be folded into just about any shape one could imagine. That the envelope was parchment told him exactly one thing.

He paled, tempted to toss the letter away and never speak of it again. He ignored Blaise's concern as he tore the thing open, dumping the contents onto the table: a single letter.

Hermione was looking at him curiously. Theo had buried his head in his book. Draco noticed none of this as he unfolded it, pressed it against the table, and read it through as quickly as he could. Then he went back and read it again, slower. "What's he playing at?"

"Who?"

He looked up at Blaise. "My father."

"Your father the muggle hater?"

"Excuse me? _Draco_. Your father hates muggles?" Hermione did not look pleased. "So why -?"

"Law. And choice. And - and it's about you."

"_What_! That's impossible, I've never even met -"

"He wants to know if you can stay at the Manor over Christmas."

Hermione was staring at him. "I - I was going to go see my parents. I haven't - not since August."

"Well, yes, none of us has. But, Hermione, he used your name. Your _name_. I didn't even know he knew it."

"Does it say why?"

"You read it," he said, and passed the paper to her, She held it with shaking fingers, her brow furrowed in concentration. Draco knew exactly what she was reading.

Mother would like to spend some time with her, to assess her worth. To see if she really was the genius Draco had described her as. To see if she was capable. Or not. To decide if she was good enough.

Privately, Draco wondered if Lucius was planning something bad. He couldn't be, though, could he? People would know where Hermione was: Neville was reading over Hermione's shoulder as he tried to seem as though he wasn't, and Theo and Blaise had both listened to their conversation. Plus there was Hermione's parents, muggles who would surely contact McGonagall or Dumbledore if they suspected anything had happened at all.

"Draco."

"What?"

Hermione's gaze was steady, something he wasn't sure he'd have been able to accomplish, were he in her shoes. "Do _you_ want me to come?"

He stared at her. He was being asked if he wanted something? That hadn't happened since... it had never happened. He said something, and he was given it, and that was that. That was how he'd gotten her in the first place. So why was she asking?

_Oh, that's right. I didn't say what I wanted when this started. _"Yes," he said, voice small.

"Then I'll go. Obviously I'll go. 'Til death do us part, and all that."

"You haven't taken any vows yet."

Hermione looked at Neville. "Neither have you, but would you let her do something she didn't want to do?"

He shook his head. _No_.

Hermione smiled. Perhaps it was tense, but it was there. "Exactly."

* * *

**Challenges: **Lily F. Lux's _English Idioms Challenge_ on HPFC.

**Characters: **Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Neville Longbottom.

**Prompt: W**hat goes around comes around.

**Word count:** 1,905

**Song: **_All This and Heaven Too_ by Florence and the Machine.

**A/N: **This chapter feels uneventful, but I needed Draco to solve the riddle, hence the introduction of Blaise. The bet will be dealt with on the train, don't worry.


	10. hide the truth

**_D_iamonds**

**1o. hide the truth**

_I wanna hide the truth  
I wanna shelter you_

* * *

The train ride was quiet, with no pointless war being fought between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Hermione's decision to hold what she knew over Harry and Ron had ensured a period of peace, especially as neither of the other Gryffindors were on the train. Draco had found their compartment, shooing some Hufflepuffs away. "We need the seats. Go away."

Hermione and Draco were sitting each other, poring over a chapter in Hermione's gilded copy of _Magical Theory_, gifted to her by him. They had started an argument about Anne Zabini's theory regarding which wand wood provided the most power to its' wielder.

"It depends upon the wielder, _not_ the wood, not entirely. Zabini clearly states that their value depends upon how well the wood complements the wielder." Hermione poked the page, reading it out. "Right here! _Though official opinion varies, expert wandmakers Garrick Ollivander and Mykew Gregorovitch agree that each separate wand wood has certain properties which are particularly apt for a wielder with a particular personality, or enduring a certain circumstance._"

"Yeah, maybe," Draco allowed, "but it also says here that wands can be won from other people, and how could the thief be guaranteed to have the right personality or circumstance or whatever to match the wood? _A wand will always perform most effectively for the wizard that owns it, however, it will function perfectly adequately for one who has successfully disarmed the previous wielder. The original properties will continue to apply, including an affinity for charms as afforded by the wood of a Rowan tree._"

"You must have read that wrong, there's no way that she would say that. It contradicts what she said before far too much."

Blaise groaned, cutting them off. He was sitting with his legs sprawled across the seat beside him, just leaving room for Theo, who was writing something. "Can you two just stop it? It's the holidays, we're meant to be on a break."

"We have an essay due on this first week back, Blaise, don't you care at all about passing?"

"I don't think I'm going to fail if I leave it until the week before it's due."

"How do you people sleep at night?" Hermione genuinely seemed to not understand. "Honestly, it's like you're satisfied with just gliding through life without purpose."

"He has a purpose," Theo murmured, not pausing in his writing. "It's irritating you, Granger."

"Ha, ha, very funny. I'm serious!"

"So am I."

"He really is," Draco assured her, shifting. His foot nudged Neville, who was sitting on the floor between them. He couldn't take the vacant seat because Draco had stacked books on it. The Gryffindor glared at his foot, as though that would make it stop.

"How did that bet go?" Neville asked.

"Which one?"

"There's more than one?"

Hermione frowned. It hadn't occurred to her that Draco was tempting her to gamble, something her grandma Jean had always said was a sin that would get you sent somewhere awful. "Yes. There was the Sorting Ceremony, then the flying lesson, then the library. Hey, the flying lesson -"

"I won," Draco assured Neville.

"I won the flying lesson bet! Harry never threatened you."

"No, just you."

"What was that?"

"Nothing," he said, too quickly for her to believe him for even an instant. "And I stopped getting the letters. I wrote to mother and they stopped, just like I asked. I kept up my end. Why do you think I've actually been asking what you're reading?"

"Because you don't want me to finish reading them before you do?"

"When'd you come up with that? No. I just wanted to - never mind. When do I get to ask my questions?"

"Your questions? That's up to you, I guess. Do you want them to know whatever my answers are?"

Blaise and Neville glanced at them, waiting for an answer. Blaise wanted to hear what was said, while Neville was afraid to. Theo wanted them all to be quiet and let him write in peace. After all, first draft of the essay was always the hardest.

"Why didn't you argue?"

"You're going to have to be more specific, Draco. Argue about what?"

"Me picking you. You do remember that, right?"

"No need to be sarcastic. I didn't think I was free to argue."

"_Picked_? You mean that rumour's actually _true_?" Draco and Hermione both looked across the compartment to find Theo staring at them. He'd actually raised his voice, something he never did, unless he was laughing at some bad joke - usually told by himself. "I thought you were just -"

"Incredibly accepting? You do realise that this is _Draco_, right?"

"He picked you? How?"

Draco shrugged. "I'm a Malfoy. I always get first pick."

"No one else did!"

"I can explain that. There was no logic in letting children choose the people they'd spend their lives with." Hermione was glared at for saying this, though it didn't stop her. "It would take far too long, as well, especially with the first run of minors who had to be paired. Random selection just makes more sense in the long run. Plus then nobody can accuse whoever signs the papers of favouritism."

"Did I not just say -"

"We know, we know, Draco. 'I'm a Malfoy'. 'The world is my oyster'. And so on."

"Did you just interrupt him?" Blaise looked like he wanted to laugh.

"Future wife," Hermione excused herself.

"Exactly! You lord that over us, him, everyone, but the rest of us don't even _know_ who out partners are, not by sight. Mine's some Runcorn person - Cassidy Runcorn. Never met her in my life. Why should you get treated differently?"

"That's how politics work," Hermione shrugged. "They're flawed in the muggle world, of course they are here. I mean, why wouldn't they be? It's the same species."

"Older purebloods would argue with that."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

Theo didn't answer, and Draco genuinely looked confused. Neville refused to look at either of them. Blaise frowned. "Seriously? This is a problem to you people?" The looks they gave him said that _yes_, it was. Neville looked ready to tackle Blaise to force him to be quiet, and that was saying something, since the Gryffindor was hardly prone to violence. Blaise leaned towards Hermione and addressed her directly.

"There are wizards who are pureblood - witches too. Entirely magical families - like the Malfoys, actually, Malfoys and the Notts. They're famous for it, the blood prejudice. Purebloods hate muggles and muggle-borns, they usually think that the muggle-borns stole magic or some garbage like that. They think they muggle-borns should be kept out of the magical world."

"That's ridiculous," Hermione said, half-laughing. "Draco doesn't think that. Do you?"

Theo and Blaise were staring at Draco, looking as though they expected him to suddenly admit to a major hate crime. "What? No! No one in my family - oh."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean? Draco?"

He didn't end up getting a chance to answer as the door slid open. Neville scrambled away from the door as it opened, its shrieking grating against their ears. Blaise swore, Theo looked back down at his book, and the lunchlady smiled in at them. "Anything from the trolley?"

Magical candy was scattered across the compartment twenty minutes later, paid for by the combined funds of Draco, Blaise and Theo. Hermione was debating between a Pumpkin Pasty and Toothflossing Stringmint when the door opened again, making her wince: the questions had stopped, leaving Draco with two more that she had to answer honestly.

"_What_ are you eating?"

Draco grimaced. "Go away, Parkinson. You haven't spoken to me since we started at Hogwarts, don't start now."

The dark haired girl sneered at him, then looked at Theo. "I just read the newest letter. Christmas at the Malfoys again. Of course."

Hermione groaned this time, taking both of them. She knew Pansy Parkinson from the Sorting Ceremony, and from that annoying voice, constantly chattering with Sophie Roper, a girl with a shrill voice and rather interesting opinions about the Goblin Rebellions they'd studied in History of Magic. Pansy shot her a glare.

"I don't care what you think, Granger. There won't be a way to get out of it."

"Hey, I'm looking forward to it, Pansy," Theo shrugged. "Now if you could just save whatever reunion you're aiming for until then, I'd be forever grateful."

Pansy turned around and stalked off.

"There's a party now? And you didn't tell me?"

"I didn't think it mattered."

"You invited me to your house for Christmas and didn't think it was important enough to mention that there was a _party_?"

Draco was remembering the scattered parties he knew Hermione had attended, listed in reports since they had first met. Her sudden nervousness made sense, given that. "Come with me, Hermione." He didn't wait for an answer, grabbing her wrist and leaving the book on the seat he had abandoned. The two of them stepped over Neville, who watched them leave before scrambling up to claim their seat for himself.

When they reached the end of the train, he turned her wrist so that her palm was facing upwards and ran a fingertip across her palm.

"You see what this is?"

"My hand. Draco, this party -"

"Give me time. What do you use your hand for?"

"I - everything. Writing, studying, holding books so that I can read." _Where are you going with this?_

"They're your tools. You use them to learn, so all your knowledge is due to that. True?"

"Sure, yes. My hands are how I learn. Why not."

"Your hands don't control themselves, though, do they? Your mind does that."

"Brain, Draco. My brain allows me to control my hands. Everyone's control over their own body is because their brain works properly."

"Yes. So your hands are your expression of your brainpower. Yeah?"

"I suppose..."

"Alright, so remember all that. Remember it all. Now this is my second question: has there ever, in your whole life, been anything you couldn't learn?"

"Well. Why football is so interesting to so many people. How to even _think_ sports are interesting. But important things, like maths and history and magic? No. Nothing."

"Then, Hermione, I don't think you'll have any trouble learning how to behave at this party. You're a genius, you can learn to do anything. All you have to do is be yourself."

"The only muggle-born there?"

"Hey, only my father believes in that rubbish, and that's just a guess. My mother's going to like you a lot. I promise."

"You better."

The two fell silent for a time, leaning on the railing at the rear of the train. They were watching the world pass by, hills and trees and sky all painting a perfectly lovely picture. "Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Does it really matter to you whether or not my father likes you?"

"Not really. I have friends, don't I? More than I'd ever hoped to have. I'm sure they'll be plenty good enough."

He wanted to warn her that Lucius might treat her awfully. It took all his self-control to stop himself from grabbing her and shaking her, to try and convince her to change her mind and go back to her parents instead of to this stupid party. The moment passed them by quickly, though, Hermione musing aloud.

"I'm going to have to go home for at least a few hours, you know. Where else am I going to get something to wear to your silly party?"

Draco smiled. "I think mother would be happy to arrange that."

* * *

**Challenges: **Lily F. Lux's _English Idioms Challenge_ on HPFC.

**Characters: **Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Neville Longbottom, Theodore Nott.

**Prompts: W**orld is your oyster.

**Word count: **1,936

**Song: **_Demons_ by Imagine Dragons

**A/N: **I'm not sure if I'll update tomorrow. I know exactly where I want to go with this, but the previous ten chapters need to be edited. I suppose we'll see, then! Daily updates will resume after a day or so break on my part. It's been a while since I did anything other than write or watch _Bones_, after all. I think I've earned a quick break.


	11. all for you

**_D_iamonds**

**11\. all for you**

_Don't wanna let you down  
But I am hell bound  
Though this is all for you  
Don't wanna hide the truth_

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy turned out to be the single most intimidating woman Hermione had ever laid eyes on. Her features, though fair, looked sharp enough to cut any hand that caressed it. She was tall and slender, standing proudly separate from the crowd, at the same time somehow managing to seem a part of it. The Malfoy matriarch appeared to be listening to a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Pansy Parkinson and was dressed with about as much sense. Draco pointed them out to her, grimacing slightly as he shifted his grip on his trunk. "That's mother, and the dark haired woman is Pansy's mother, Prudence Parkinson."

"Ironic," Hermione muttered, letting her trunk _clunk_ as it slipped off of the steps leading into the train. "Since that's the least prudent dress I've ever seen."

"It's a gown. And it's Mrs Parkinson. I think she models for _Witch Weekly_." He smiled as Hermione groaned.

"Of _course_ you know someone who works for a trashy magazine."

"'Trashy'? Really? Are you sure you aren't just jealous of people with better positions than you and your parents?"

Hermione was wondering if divorce rates were high - or, indeed, existent at all - in the wizarding world. "My parents are dentists. We're rather well off, at least according to the standards of our neighbourhood. For example, there's room for all the books you've sent me because they could afford to build an extra room at the back of our house."

"They built an extra room? You didn't already have a library?"

"Where exactly do you think I live? I grew up in the suburbs of London, Draco, not an estate in France." She laughed aloud, shaking her head. "Honestly, I swear I said 'rather well off', not 'rich as the Queen'."

"Draco." Narcissa had drifted away from Prudence Parkinson, her calm, cold voice filling the lull in conversation between the pair of students.

"Mother!" Draco beamed at her, dropping his trunk again to hug her. Hermione looked on as the woman returned the gesture, releasing him after a brief moment. "This is Hermione, Hermione Granger."

"Your betrothed," the woman nodded to her, and Hermione had never felt so self-conscious about her buck teeth or frizzy hair, the things that made her seem real and human when she looked in the mirror. These little imperfections made her _herself_ and not some other shallow girl, set her apart from, for example, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, two gossips who kept her up at night with their inane chatter in their dorm. "It's my pleasure, Miss Granger. Are your parents aware of the decision we've agreed upon?"

Hermione swallowed, trying to make herself look taller and, in her own opinion, failing spectacularly. _I had to choose jeans and a sweater_, she moaned internally, looking at Narcissa in her emerald green coat. "Yes. My mother is aware of the arrangement, I checked everything that Draco suggested with her. She agreed after I promised I'd ask you to have me spend a day with her just before Christmas. She'll understand if you can't, of course, she'll just be disappointed."

"We can't have that, can we, Draco?"

He was shaking his head when Hermione looked at him. She wasn't sure, though, if this was him agreeing or disagreeing with his mother, not until he spoke. "Hermione agreed to stay with us as a favour to me. I promised she could see her parents ."

Narcissa's expression didn't change from the polite mask, but she wasn't looking at the young witch, something that soothed Hermione's nerves considerably. She drew her wand; Hermione winced unnecessarily as Draco's mother cast a spell to shrink the trunks. Hermione lifted her own, while Draco's was removed from him. "Aren't you going to offer to take her trunk?"

Draco blushed. "Hermione, do you -"

"I can take my own," she interrupted.

She wasn't entirely sure, but she thought Narcissa's expression changed, curiosity showing through as she peered at the muggle-born. Hermione didn't think capturing the womans attention was a great idea, not then, not ever. But of course, she would have her attention for a long while yet. That came with the Malfoy name.

"Take my hand, Draco. Hermione, have you ever Apparated before?"

"No, Mrs Malfoy. I've read about it, though. Is it true that most of those who experience it are sick immediately after?"

"You'll have to tell me. Don't let go. And do keep your mind blank, I have no interest in being splinched today." And Narcissa Malfoy took Hermione's hand, holding it with the same gentleness with which a child clasps her doll. Hermione, expecting a crushing vice from this stern woman, was taken aback.

And then, she saw black.

* * *

Finding her feet, Hermione had never felt quite so nauseous. She stumbled away from Narcissa and Draco, feeling as though her throat were burning, her lungs aching. Apparition felt _awful_, like being forced through a tiny tubular passage. Her shoulders were shaking as she coughed, praying to anyone who might be listening to prevent her from vomiting. A warm hand touched her arm without warning; she could feel it through the cream wool of her sweater. She very nearly hit the person who touched her; only refraining because she was shaking too hard.

"I didn't think you'd take Apparition as badly as you and Neville took flying lessons." She could practically hear the smirk in his voice. She sneered at him.

"I bet you end up being sick the first time you go on a ship or a plane!"

"I've been on a ship. Family holiday when I was seven. What's a plane, exactly?"

"Muggle transport. It lets them fly."

"_Fly_? Like a broom? You said you hated flying."

She pushed her hair out of her eyes, grimacing. "I do. But planes at least have a floor, padded seats, catering. Brooms don't have that."

"Flying carpets have a floor. Sort of."

"We don't learn to fly a flying carpet, though, do we?"

"Draco, walk Hermione inside. And call Dobby to clean up anything that needs cleaning."

"Yes, mother," Draco agreed instantly. Hermione looked up, and her mouth instantly fell open.

She was leaning against a tall hedge, standing before a wrought iron gate that had been left open. The driveway, if that was what it was - _why do they have a driveway? I doubt they own a car_ \- ran straight from several metres behind them to several more metres ahead, where the smooth stone met the house. For the first time, Hermione fully appreciated that it really _was_ Malfoy Manor. The building was the same size as the school she had gone to until receiving her Hogwarts letter, the one that had to house the boarding students it took on from all around the world. She counted what looked like three stories of windows, one double the height of the others, and six turrets rising above it all. Dark shingles gleamed, as pristine as the day they'd been laid centuries ago, if Draco's tales about the age of the Manor were anywhere close to accurate. And the grounds! She couldn't see another house in any direction and, though she was fully aware that she was too short to see over the tall hedges, she got the impression that it was also because the property itself was the size of a village. "Draco."

"Hermione."

"Please tell me I'm not going to be locked in the same room the entire time I'm here."

"Of course you won't. Why would you be? You'll get a tour from Dobby."

"I thought you'd be the one to do that."

He stared at her. "Do you want me to?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but didn't get the chance. A sharp _pop_ cut her off, and twin eyes the exact shade and size of a tennis ball were suddenly fixed on her. "Mistress has told Dobby to take Misses things to Misses room. Miss is to sleep in the room next to Master's. Dobby cleaned it for Miss, just like Mistress said." The creature smiled nervously; Hermione wondered if it was more afraid of her than she was of it. The philosophy applied to spiders, why shouldn't it be appropriate when face to face with strange wrinkled midgets with bandaged fingers and snouts and bat-like ears?

"Thank you, Dobby," Hermione said, forcing her voice to remain calm despite the fact that she was sorely tempted to run right into the house and lose her way as whe explored the first magical home she'd ever seen. "I'm sure it looks lovely."

The thing looked at her as though she were some kind of dangerous miracle, shaking visibly. Draco stepped closer, and it stepped back. Draco took her trunk, prying its shrunken form out of her fingers before he could pass it to the creature. "Take these up to our rooms and return them to their normal sizes. I will show Hermione where to go."

It nodded and vanished again with a _pop_, and Hermione turned to glare at Draco, her nerves firing erratically and herself out of patience. "What _was_ that - that creature? It looked like a goblin, only goblins aren't obedient."

He frowned. "Did he really? He's a house elf, nothing like a goblin. Not greedy or selfless or anything, really, just a servant. He does the work around the Manor, him and a few other elves."

"His hands were bandaged. He can't possibly be working properly, not in that state."

"His hands are almost always bandaged. It just means that he didn't do a good enough job for father."

"That's - that's awful! Treating it - him - like a slave!" She was following him up the drive now, towards the gargantuan Manor. "Slavery has been illegal in England for over a hundred and fifty years. It isn't fair that that poor thing be expected to be obedient. It just isn't right!"

"House elves are meant to serve wizards and witches, Hermione. That's how it's always been, for as long as history says they've existed."

"That doesn't make it right," she tried to object, but cut off as she stepped into the Manor proper. The room they were in now must surely be nothing more than an entrance hall, but just the crystal chandelier hanging high above their heads seemed to be larger than her dresser at home. The grand staircase was to the left of the door as they stepped inside of it, two separate staircases sweeping along the wall on either side of the room. Hermione could see a stone table lined with flowers, and photographs lined the wall behind the table. The dark wood of the stairs looked darker against an emerald green runner that must have been enchanted to never slide, and a wrought iron banister along the edges prevented falls with a design repeated from the gate outside.

Draco led her up these steps and along the halls, dark wood echoed everywhere. Hermione was too awed to speak, having never pictured anything of _this _scale, no matter how many times she had heard the Slytherins call this place a 'Manor'. She followed him up another staircase before he finally told her to stop. "If it's not to your liking, there are other rooms to choose from," he promised. And then he opened the door.

The room was only slightly smaller than her dorm, and that slept five girls comfortably. The floor was covered with a luscious carpet, softer than anything she'd felt before beneath her feet. The bed was twice the size of the one in her dorm back at Hogwarts, and the desk off to the side was certainly large enough to fit three people sitting side by side. There was a sitting area in front of the engraved stone fireplace, and a bookshelf full of tomes she recognised, and some she didn't. Cream walls made the room seem lighter and the rich wooden accents seem darker. "Oh my."

"If you want to try another room, the red room and the blue room are just down the hall -"

"Draco."

"Or the ruby and amethyst rooms are on the second floor."

"_Draco._"

He turned to face her. She was surprised to note that she'd never seen him quite so nervous. "What?"

"It's fine. I just didn't expect something quite this big."

"Big? It's one of the smaller..."

"It's bigger than my parents living room. That's all I mean. I can probably manage getting a little comfortable."

"A little?"

"Well, if I don't get lost in the bed." The joke felt wrong on her lips, particularly as she didn't usually tell jokes. Draco chuckled, and that didn't suit him any more than the joke suited her. She silently promised herself that she'd never repeat anything akin to a joke again, lest she managed to dig her own grave with the words.

"My room is right next door. We should get changed for dinner."

"Changed? Into what? I don't have anything even a little bit fancy to try."

"Just choose something a little bit dressy. Skirt and blouse, maybe. It doesn't have to be warm, there are heating charms everywhere. I'll be back in ten minutes to show you to the dining room we'll be eating in."

"There's more than one?"

"Family, formal, and great. Is that a problem?"

_Oh dear, this house is bigger than I thought. Much bigger. _"Not at all."

* * *

She managed to find a white blouse that wasn't too creased and a black skirt that didn't look quite too school-ish. She took a deep breath, shot one more look at her hair - she'd managed to pull it out of her face, but beyond that it would not be reasoned with - in the reflection, and opened the bedroom door again. Maybe Draco's tour would tell her whether or not she should think of this place as a gilded cage, but until she knew for sure she was going to stay on guard.

There were no windows in the hallway, but there was a portrait directly across from the door to the room she had been given. The man was quite attractive, despite the rich unconvincing colours that had been used to create his likeness, and the eyes were almost exactly like Draco's, at least at first glance: twin moons in a pale face. He carried a sword sheathed on his left hip, and a long, thin wand was clasped in his right hand. He raised it as she looked on, looking her over. "You must be Miss Granger." His voice was smooth and deliberate; this was a man who never uttered a word when it was not necessary.

"Yes. Hello." She hoped she didn't sound as nervous as she felt. "There's no title on your frame."

"Of course not. Those who need to know my name are taught it."

"Well, you're obviously a Malfoy ancestor. Only the Parkinson's are as arrogant as you sound."

"Be nice, grandfather," Draco ordered sharply as he closed his own door. Hermione peered at him, curious and offended.

"He's not behaving badly. He's just... related to you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Her expression changed quickly to one of exasperation as she shook her head. "This is your grandfather? He doesn't look like how I pictured Abraxas."

"That's because he isn't. This is Armand, the Frenchman who started the Malfoy's in England. He oversaw the construction of the original Manor himself."

"Of course this isn't the first."

"What was that?"

"Where's this dinner we're supposed to be attending?"

"Family dining room. Ground floor. Keep up, Hermione, it's a bit of a walk."

"Probably closer than the Great Hall is to Gryffindor Tower."

"That's a seven floor difference. It doesn't count."

"Well, it should count."

They were still debating whether or not it counted when they finally entered the family dining room several minutes later. The so-called family dining room had the same rich dark woods and stone motifs that were repeated throughout the public areas of the Manor. The table was long enough to seat eight but was only laid out for four, the other four chairs nowhere in sight. The chandelier overhead was a smaller version of the one that hung over the entrance hall, still lit by candles despite the fact that electric lighting would be much more efficient. The chairs themselves appeared to be lined with velvet.

Narcissa Malfoy, lady of the house, was already seated at one end of the table. She had changed out of her coat into a dress that seemed to brush her knees. She looked every bit as imposing as she had on the platform, her back straight, pristine blonde hair now cascading down over her shoulders. Her makeup seemed to have been removed, but other than that, she looked as terrifying as she had earlier. Hermione met her gaze, resisting the urge to swallow nervously.

Looking at the other end of the table, she came face to face with a man who looked every bit as cold as his wife. His eyes were slate gray, like Draco's but without the life she had come to associate with the young Slytherin. Pale blonde hair and pale skin had him look very similar to his son, but his expression betrayed none of the emotion that usually played across Draco's face: she couldn't imagine this man angry or happy, grieving or playing. She had the distinct impression that he played for blood.

"Miss Granger," he spoke in a low, cold voice, barely more than a whisper. He rose to his feet, raising his glass. "Welcome to Malfoy Manor."

She had never drawn away from anybody as quickly as she snapped away from Draco when Lucius addressed her directly. The words were welcoming, but the tone was anything but. "Thank you," she fought the fear, forcing any hint of it out of her own words, "for inviting me, Mister Malfoy."

"Oh, no. The letter may have been in my hand, but I assure you, it is Narcissa's words."

"Now, dear," Narcissa said sharply, interrupting any play. Hermione's soft brown eyes darted to her cold, dark ones, searching for any hint of the emotion she'd heard in the voice. _Nothing_. Narcissa Malfoy's eyes were as lifeless as those in a muggle photograph, no motion and no energy visible within.

It was with suppressed reluctance that Hermione took the seat Draco didn't stand beside, alone on her side o the table. She imagined that this was what it would feel like to be alone in the Hogwarts dungeons, part of her convinced that the walls were closing in on her. And then she tried to convince herself that her hands weren't shaking and that she wouldn't disappoint Draco as she began to eat.

* * *

**Characters: **Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy

**Prompt: ****D**ig your own grave.

**Word count: **3,139

**Song: **_Demons_ by Imagine Dragons

**A/N: **I have no explanation for what was going on here. I'm trying to decide what she's going to go through at the party. Also, I'm sorry for the delay between updates. I figured I earned a break for ten consecutive days of updates, but maybe I shouldn't do that again, if the terrible quality of this chapter is any indication.


	12. shine so bright

_**D**_**iamonds**

**12\. shine so bright**

_Your eyes, they shine so bright  
I wanna save that light_

* * *

Draco was not at all surprised to discover that Hermione's favourite room at the Manor was the expansive library. Part of him wished that she would instead develop a fondness for the grounds, but then again, she never had the chance. He was able to lead her around the garden the day after they got off the train, but only briefly, as he had shown her around the house first. The day after that, they woke to a layer of snow across everything, making any trips outside nothing more than a trip that was practically asking to get sick. Hermione Granger retreated to the Malfoy library and lost herself in the books, and he took her distraction as his invitation to spend time with his mother.

Narcissa Malfoy slept in late, and Draco found her in her room - the suite as far as possible from Lucius' own bedroom as could be, while still being on the same hall. He passed through the sitting room, ignoring her personal elf and her feeble attempt to stop him half way, the extravagance of the lush velvet chaise lounges and carved wooden sofa washing over him. This luxury was what he had grown up in, and as such the light pastels of Narcissa's suite were nothing new, not to her son.

He crept up quietly before finally diving onto the bed, the soft mattress absorbing most of his impact as he rolled close to her. "Morning, mum," he grinned.

"Draco?" Her tone thick with sleep, her eyelids flickered open slowly to reveal blue eyes that could be as easily frostbitten as they were loving. Draco had never seen anything other than love in her gaze, but he had never managed to disappoint her, at least to his knowledge. He hadn't seen her dismay when he had chosen Hermione, having been staring at the girl with the book in her hands instead. "What are you doing in here?"

"Hermione's reading. I wanted to spend some time with you."

"Is it safe to leave her alone?"

He misinterpreted the slight frown as worry for the girl, and not for the books. But of course the lady Malfoy was more concerned for the books, some of which dated back to the time before Abraxas had begun construction of the Manor. "I'll find her at lunch. Dobby already made us breakfast. She's reading a more detailed history of the Malfoys - apparently, we only sent her three of the books, but she did some asking at the library and Madam Pince gave her a list of titles that might have more information. She didn't get time to check them out, though, so she's trying our library."

"Did you call me 'mum' when you came in here?"

Draco smiled sheepishly. "Hermione calls her parents 'mum' and 'dad'. So does Blaise, and Neville calls his grandmother 'nan'. It sounds better than 'mother' and 'father' and 'grandmother'. Maybe I should start calling grandmother Lalana's portrait 'nan'?"

"_No_. Absolutely not, Draco, the woman would have a heart attack if she were still alive to be addressed improperly!" Too late, she noticed Draco's impish grin, realising quickly that the boy had been teasing her. Narcissa took a deep, steadying breath, astounded by this development. His curiosity was supposed to wan as he attended school, not grow to his adopting muggle habits!

Then again, the Malfoy creed had always been to survive, despite the family motto. _Sanctimonia vincet semper_. Lucius had always claimed that it meant 'purity always overcomes', but of course Latin was a dead and difficult language. The word for purity was the same as the word for 'honour' and 'virtue' - words used to describe those who possessed good character. Ironic, really, how the two translations differed so hugely from each other, yet both could be applied. The Malfoy's were nothing if not adaptable.

"Mum..."

"Yes, Draco. Is there a reason you woke me at this ridiculous hour?"

"It's past ten. Dad went to work. Father." He grimaced. "So it's safe to ask now, isn't it?"

"Ask what, my little dragon?" She brushed his hair back from his forehead, fighting the urge to click her tongue in disapproval: he desperately needed a haircut. The boy pressed his skin against her hand, having missed the contact during his absence.

"Will you take Hermione to see her parents?"

Narcissa's hand froze mid-stroke. Part of her couldn't believe he'd ask her to interact with muggles. Another part, a larger part, believed it wholeheartedly. After all, she'd spent the better part of two years convincing him that muggles weren't actually inferior, were as good as they were, were their _equals_ in every way except knowledge. Narcissa knew perfectly well that in another life, back when she was Narcissa Black and yet to earn the hand of Lucius Malfoy, she had wanted to be a teacher. She had been about to start studying methods of teaching at Salem University in southwest Scotland, the best magical university in the world, when Lucius had asked her father for permission to propose to her. She hadn't gone through with the course after that, but the interest still existed.

She was _very_ good at brainwashing children with beliefs they never bothered to double check. Of course she had succeeded with Draco. "Do you want me to?"

"Yes. It's what she wants, and she hasn't seen them for months. I missed you, mum, but that's nothing like what she must have felt. At least I knew this was coming."

"So did she, Draco," Narcissa spoke slowly, carefully. She had never felt the need to select and use words that she was sure the child would understand. "She knew all about Hogwarts. If she read any of the books we had delivered to her, at least."

"You know she did. You still get the lists, don't you?"

"Yes," she sighed, sitting up at last. "Do you wish to meet Mister and Mrs Granger?"

"Doctors. Yes. I do want to meet them. Hermione talks about them like they're the best people in the world."

She pulled him close to her, hugging him to her chest as she stroked his hair tenderly, her long fingers running smoothly through his pristine platinum hair. Her little boy looked so much like Lucius had when she had first met him, eleven years old and sure he was some kind of perfect prince. She'd never heard her husband speak about her the same way Draco referred to the muggle-born witch in the library, but nothing could convince her that he didn't love her, not in the way she wanted. Narcissa had wanted forever and a heart, but all she'd gotten was a name and a list of sins.

"I'll send them an owl to find out when they're free."

"Thanks, mum!"

Draco practically skipped out of the room, while Narcissa looked on from the bed. She didn't know how her son had come to befriend the only son of Isadora Zabini, who had always loathed her, or how he'd gotten close to the Longbottom boy, who lived with his grandmother Augusta because Narcissa's oldest sister was a sociopath. Grimacing to herself, she reached for the writing set she kept beside her bed at all times. "Mitzy!"

The house-elf appeared beside the bed with a _crack_, blinking her wide blue eyes. "What can Mitzy do for Mistress?"

"I need a tray. And fetch an owl."

"Would Mistress like Erinye or Jelani or Medea?"

"Medea will manage, I think. It's only a letter."

* * *

Four days later, Draco found himself in a position he remembered not liking at all. The difference was less people, certainly, and two people to turn to instead of just the one.

In a way, it was better like this - but in another way, it was worse. Less people meant less distraction. Less people meant they could focus on _him_. Maybe he loved attention, but that was when he was around people he knew. Purebloods and wealthy people he could deal with. Bratty children who thought the world was owed to them. _That_ was familiar. _That_ was something he could deal with.

If he told Hermione that, she'd use some big, complicated word to tell him how sad it was. As it was, he opted to stick close to her anyway, as if the only one of them familiar with this world would be a shield for him. And looking up at the house, he wasn't sure she'd be big enough to fulfil that role.

It wasn't huge; it would fit inside the Manor at least three times, and that was just across the front. He didn't know how far back it went, but the Manor was bigger. And yet this building intimidated him, with its' tall chimney and brown brick exterior studded with windows lined with whitewashed frames. The hedges and ivy out front were vibrant green beneath the snow, maybe only a little duller than those that studded the grounds of his home. Hermione grinned when the pine green door came into view. "Home," she breathed.

Draco hadn't ever heard her sound so relieved, not even when it became apparent that her blackmail scheme had successfully deterred Weasley and Potter. The door opened then, and a woman with hair as wild as Hermione's appeared, wearing jeans and a soft blue sweater. Hermione ran right for her, diving into her arms and hugging her tight. "Mum!"

"Hermione," the woman said, breaking out into a relieved smile. She clutched her daughter in a manner that said rather clearly how much she cared for the girl. After a minute of chatter between the two, she looked up, her smile never once faltering. "Excuse me, Mrs Malfoy, for my manners. Do come in for some tea."

Draco followed Hermione into the house, Narcissa behind him. She had stiffened already, tense due to the circumstances more than anything else. She had never been in a muggle house and had never associated with a muggleborn or, indeed, a muggle, at all. This showed noticeably in how she held herself in that house, with its' pastel walls and whitewashed wood framing everything, from windows to doors. The interior Malfoy Manor was light, it was true, but that was due to a combination of magic and electricity and flame. The Granger's home was lit differently: natural light, bleached white by snowfall, drifted into the rooms. The living room was flooded with this crisp, white light, and Hermione hadn't looked happier in a long time.

Monica Granger, as she introduced herself, was a dentist. She brought them to her husband, who she introduced as Wendell, sprawled across the couch and watching the pictures fly across the screen just like a magical photograph. Draco stared for a moment before realising that it must be a television, one of those boxes Hermione had mentioned before, comparing them to the pictures as he explained how they worked. On top of the picture box sat a little owl. Draco stared at it, recognising it: yellow eyes and cream and brown speckled feathers. He wasn't sure why Narcissa's personal owl was sitting on the Granger's picture box, but she looked like she was comfortable there.

"Are you a football fan, then?" Wendell Granger had a gruff, confident voice. Draco, not expecting to be addressed directly, jumped.

"Is football anything like Quidditch?" he managed. The man laughed, his large ears quivering as he did so.

"Ah, yes, you're that magical kid, aren't you? The one my 'Mione's supposed to stick around forever." The laughter died as quickly as it had started, and the muggle man was suddenly dead serious. "Did she tell you what Monica and I do for a living, boy?"

Unsure what to make of this change, Draco his a frown. "She said you fix teeth."

"Yes, that's part of it. We also remove them. We take these things, kind of like pliers, and we use them to _rip_ them out of your mouth. We take needles – you know what those are, yes? – well, we take them and we jab them _right_ into your gums. That's the squishy bit that holds your teeth in your skull. We know how to destroy teeth, just as easy as fixing them. You ever had a toothache, boy, from eating all your candy or rocks or whatever you magical people eat? Imagine one of those in your teeth. Every. Single. One. I will do all of that and more if you ever hurt my little girl."

Stunned by the threat, Draco gaped openly at the man. He didn't _look_ like he was capable of all this and more, not like the people he was used to being around. And yet he was more prepared to believe that this odd _muggle_ would cause him all of this pain if anything happened to Hermione. _So don't let anything happen_, he reasoned to himself. Hermione, reappearing at his side like a spirit, whacked her fathers' arm before hugging him tight. It was in that moment that he saw the resemblance, as both their eyes danced as though they had shared a joke of some kind.

Draco wasn't laughing.

"_Dad_, be nice. Draco's my friend." She looked up. "And so are Neville and Blaise and Theo, when he's in a good mood, but I think they'll survive not meeting you. I need to grab some things from my room, but then I promise I'll listen to you talk about the Manchester losing. Again."

"They're not losing," the man protested, but Hermione had laced her arm through Draco's and was dragging him away, towards the staircase and walls of photographs. Narcissa threw one pleading look after her son, but recognised her predicament in an instant. Monica Granger and tea would have to soothe her for the moment.

Draco, on the other hand, was getting a brief tour of Hermione's family home, the place where she had grown up. He was starting to see why she'd been so taken aback by the size of the cream suite at Malfoy Manor: the entire first floor of the house was only slightly larger than the entire suite, which was designed to cater to a couple – and that was only for sleep, study and hygiene. Apparently, living in suburbia meant _small rooms_.

All the same, he had a great deal of fun looking around the house as they walked through. There were photographs absolutely everywhere, covering shelves and any walls that weren't lined with more shelves. Hermione's parents, both dentists, seem to need as much space for books as the Malfoy's did, judging by the chaotic stacking, designed to fit as many books as were possible. And yet everything still seemed neat, deliberate.

He was distracted with peering at a photo of something he found familiar, of eight-year-old Hermione in her dark sweater and yellow-collared uniform, the same clothes he'd first seen her in. She was looking up this time, though, and he was happy to note that her eyes were the same in this photo. It didn't move, though, no matter how long he stared. He still hadn't blinked when Hermione returned. "What are you doing?"

"You aren't moving."

"Yes, I am, to my room... oh, you meant in the photo? It's a muggle picture, Draco. They don't move."

"Your eyes don't look right." He squinted. "They look kind of dead."

"Rude," she pointed out, but smiled. "That's not the point of these photographs. They're school photos – they show how I change as I grow up. That's all."

"Hogwarts doesn't do these, though. What'll they hang next?"

"I imagine we'll fake a photo from the boarding school my grandma Jean believes I'm going to. Or you could, you know, manage to take a photo of me before the year ends, when we get back to school. I want photos of all of us together, Neville and Blaise and Theo and you, too. Maybe I can get Professor McGonagall to take the picture. That would work, wouldn't it?"

"Or you could just use magic. Like a witch."

"Oh, be quiet. Do you want to see my room or not?"

He did want to see her room, as it turned out. He was incredibly curious as to how she fit everything in one room.

With great difficulty, it turned out. Like the rest of the house, it was neat, not even a speck of dust on the shelves that lined the walls: it was cramped, though, almost to the point of inducing claustrophobia. A desk was pressed up against the window, the only light spot in the room that wasn't over the bed. He could picture her sitting up late at night, at the desk or cross-legged on the bed, hunched over _Hogwarts: A History_ or any other book she happened to pick up off the shelves. Hermione leant over the desk to pop the window open, despite the light snow that was still falling outside.

"Mum must've come in here to clean while I was at school. That's the best explanation for us not gagging on dust right now." He could hear the smile in her voice as she moved to the only other door in the room, sliding it open to get at the wardrobe. She went through the clothes quickly while Draco looked around.

What little of the walls were visible were pale blue, and that was only behind the bed. Books were _everywhere_, shelves built into them and packed as full as they could possibly be, with a few exceptions where she'd removed them to take to school. Even her bedside table was stacked high, a dozen books. "I thought you said they built another room for these books."

"What? No, not these ones. If you look out the window, there's a building out back, a sort of little wooden cabin. That's the other room."

It wasn't a small room, as it turned out. "Why don't you have a library?"

She laughed. "Draco, our house is a library. Welcome to the Granger home."

Half an hour later, the two of them moved downstairs to find Narcissa covering her mouth. Draco's first reaction was concern - until he looked closer, and saw the sparkle in her eyes. The woman was _laughing_, laughing at some story Wendell or Monica had told. Draco and Hermione peered at each other curiously. Then they both smiled.

"My mum likes her," Hermione whispered to him, "and I thought she was the Ice Queen."

"Ice Queen? What does that mean?"

"Remind me to tell you some muggle stories," she instructed, bounding over to hug her dad again, starting to tell him all about Hogwarts. Watching this, Draco was tempted to smile. _Father wouldn't be pleased if I tried that with him, would he?_

There was almost no rhyme or reason to it then, but he finally smiled, then. _At least mum likes Mrs Granger._ _Doctor. Doctor Granger._

Now all they had left was the annual Malfoy family Christmas party. And Hermione Granger did not have a lot of experience with parties, least of all the formal kind. Either they were all doomed, or this was going to be the best Christmas party he had ever witnessed.

He could hope, couldn't he?

* * *

**Characters: **Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Narcissa Malfoy, Monica Granger, Wendell Granger.

**Prompt: N**o rhyme or reason.

**Word count: **3,209

**Song: **_Demons_ by Imagine Dragons.

**A/N: **I really enjoyed writing this chapter. I've always believed that Narcissa has a shell that she keeps firmly between herself and other wizards, but it might shatter with enough effort. And Hermione's mother is someone I imagined would be incredibly friendly and talkative, otherwise she'd be a rather awful dentist, with no return patients. Good dentists are generally experts at putting people at ease, after all (at least in my experience).


	13. just stay

_**D**_**iamonds**

**13\. just s****tay**

_Just stay where you are, let your fear subside  
Just stay where you are, if there's nothing to hide_

* * *

"I remember this fitting better."

Draco, sprawled across one of the couches in front of the cream suite's fireplace, looked up from the book he'd selected from her collection. Stepping out of the bathroom, Hermione was wearing what looked like a light purple sack. She had pinned her hair out of the way, and it looked _alright_, sort of. Better than the dress, at least. "Is that really what you picked?"

"I don't have many party dresses," she said, indignant. "I don't like parties. They're all bad music and people that would rather talk than read, and adults that behave like they're children and children playing silly little games with silly rewards for sitting through all of this rubbish. It's a system of bribes on top of acts nobody _really _wants to do, except they were invited and said they would go and now they're stuck there."

"Right." He lay down the book, picking up one of the packages that had been sitting on her coffee table ever since they had returned from visiting her parents several days ago. Shaking it experimentally, he smiled in triumph. "Open this one."

"It's not Christmas yet!"

"So? I heard your mum say that you could open one of them early. Choose this one. Don't you want to know what they got you?"

"She, actually. Dad puts everything in green wrapping paper, mum uses red, and the ones from both of them will have little pictures all over the paper. It's just the way it is."

"Your parents colour code your presents? Really? Why?"

She shrugged, slumping onto the second couch. Heaving a sigh, she rubbed her face. "Phew. It's just what we do. I wrap all the presents for mum in purple, and all the ones for dad in newspaper. That second bit is because he stopped reading the paper, since he likes watching the news now. We always have newspaper left around Christmas."

"Okay." He tossed the present to her, grinning as it landed on her. "Come on, open it!"

"No. It's not Christmas."

"Make up a new reason or just open it. I bet it's something you need."

"I don't need anything."

"Except a dress for the party."

She groaned. "I don't know why I agreed to go to this thing with you."

"Because I asked you to stay here at the Manor over Christmas and this was already planned. Come on, open the present. Please?"

"You only want me to open it because you think it'll be a dress that looks nicer than this."

"Yeah, what's with that thing?"

"I wore it to my aunt's wedding a year ago. I didn't want to go, which probably doesn't surprise you, but mum made me go dress shopping and this was the first thing I grabbed. I don't _like_ clothes shopping. I'd rather look for books."

"Of course you would. Either you open it or I do. And there _are_ two other ones for Christmas. Plus what I got you. And what mum got you. And if we're lucky father will hide in his study and not try to ruin Christmas."

"Your father's the Grinch? Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"The what?"

"Muggle stories. Again." She cleared her throat, sitting up and letting the present fall into her hands. Sighing, she began to carefully pull at the tape securing the paper. Draco almost growled in frustration.

"You're one of _those_ people?"

"I don't like ripping the paper unnecessarily. Sue me." Despite her carefulness, the paper was removed quickly. It fell away from a heap of grey fabric, and Draco clapped his hands together in triumph.

"Told you!"

"You would know that one, wouldn't you?" Reluctantly, she got to her feet and returned to the bathroom, glaring at the mess of fabric in her arms. Draco remained where he was, reaching over to straighten the small pile of presents on the table: one from both of her parents, and one from her dad, and two from people who must have been extended family, perhaps her grandma and the married aunt? There would be at least two more added on Christmas morning, when the two of them and Narcissa gathered in an out-of-the-way sitting room to exchange gifts near the tree that his mother had watched the elves put together. For now, though, this would have to do. Five presents. Four, now that she had opened the fifth.

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

_Four._

"Okay, maybe I did need to open this early."

He looked up again, but not before finishing his count. _Five_. She was wearing it already. It was much more flattering than the sack she'd had for two years, a shiny grey fabric that faded to brown, covered with almost imperceptible floral patterns. The bodice, attached to thin straps that looped over her shoulders, was given shape by the ruffled line of ribbon down the centre, to the point where the skirt attached. It looked _much_ better. She could pass for someone who actually cared about pureblood vanity, wearing that dress.

"I know it looks nicer than the other one, but I'm not doing my hair up for your little party. There's no point, I'm not trying to impress anyone. Why are you still staring at me?" She crossed her arms, fixing him with an accusing stare. _Laugh. I dare you._

"Much better," he said instead, and was rewarded with the dawn of a smile on Hermione's face.

* * *

She'd found a jacket by Christmas, a denim thing that must have been in her trunk because he could swear that he hadn't felt denim in any of her presents, and besides, she certainly hadn't grabbed it when they had gone to her home. She had tossed it on over her pyjamas, faded golden flannel, on Christmas morning when he knocked on her door to get her. He offered to take the presents she was carrying, but she shot him a suspicious glare and shook her head.

"I don't think so, Draco. You'll probably open them or toss them over the railing or something."

He was offended by the accusation, but only showed it by rolling his eyes at her. A ridiculous habit, but she always did the same, didn't she? "Mind over matter. If you don't mind, it won't matter what I do."

"You're not carrying my presents," she said flatly. But once they reached the green sitting room, she put everything neatly in a pile before hugging him. "Merry Christmas, Draco."

He was unfamiliar with the gesture, though of course it wasn't the first time. He hugged Narcissa fairly often, more when his father wasn't around to look on in silent, eerie judgement, and so he knew to return the hug. No one close to his age had ever hugged him - but of course, prior to Hogwarts he hadn't exactly been willing to _talk_ to those his own age, much less touch them. They were simply too stupid, too ugly, too poor, too proud, too rude. Almost all of them were things that made him a hypocrite.

The two of them stopped hugging when the door opened again, stepping apart quickly as though they had been caught in the midst of some forbidden act. Narcissa shook her head the tiniest amount, so little that she was certain Draco wouldn't notice the act. "Good morning," she greeted. The woman was already dressed properly, unlike the children in their pyjamas. Fine black trousers and an emerald green blouse had her looking as intimidating and elegant as ever.

"Merry Christmas, Mrs Malfoy," Hermione chimed, sitting beside her small collection of gifts.

The trio opened their presents together, more of a family than Draco had ever considered he might have before. Hermione had even managed to purchase a small gift for Narcissa, a small silver pendant that the older witch stared at in bemusement. "What's this?"

"It's a locket. You open it and you can fit two pictures in, side by side. I thought you'd like to use it so you can always have Draco close to your heart." Hermione continued to explain that she didn't have any photos of Draco and she wasn't sure if a magical photo would move out of the visible photo, either. Narcissa turned the locket in her fingers, popping it open. White gold, a small emerald glittering on the front, a floral design framing the gemstone. It was a beautiful peace, if rather simple compared to some of the more extravagant things she owned.

"Where did you get this?"

Hermione blinked. "Mum sent me some catalogues to look through. I circled some things I wanted her to get, so I could gift them to others, since I don't have any money. That necklace seemed like something you might like."

The girl sounded shy, but the older witch was pleased. She called t the house elf to fetch a photo of Draco and of Lucius, so that she might duplicate them and set them into her locket. A lovely idea, really, incredibly clever for a muggleborn girl of eleven - no, twelve - years. A girl who was peering closely at a generic magical toy, a doll that whispered to its' owner in the night. Promises of protection, mostly. It wore a bracelet that matched the one Draco had sent Narcissa to choose for Hermione.

Draco, meanwhile, was poring through a book Hermione had given him, one of three. "What's a 'Cinderella'?"

"A muggle story. I told you that I'd tell you some, didn't I? That book is full of the new versions, the ones that Disney tells muggle children, muggleborns, half-bloods, and whatever purebloods watch them. Anyone who'll look, more or less. The second book is the Grimm versions."

"_Grim_?"

"Yeah, brothers Grimm. They collected the original versions, the ones made up to scare children or teach them to obey whoever was meant to be in charge."

"And what's this last one?" He was picturing a large black dog and a trying not to recite a story about dying that he'd known or a very long time.

Hermione grinned. "Football."

* * *

Malfoy Manor was, of course, huge. It was so large that it had its' own ballroom, which, while it wasn't quite as big as the Great Hall at Hogwarts, certainly could have fit two of the house tables in. Two chandeliers hung from the ceiling, which stretched up the lower two storeys of the Manor. Windows at either end of the room and along one wall opened out into the gardens, part of it cleared of snow so that the guests might take a break from the dancing and gossip. Huge double doors occasionally granted entrance to these cleared paths, though not all of them were accessible. A platform raised half way up the wall opposite these doors served as a stage for the band. Guests milled everywhere across the marble floor, not reacting to the ostentatious artwork that decorated the ceiling, or to the beautifully severe portraits that hung between the windows.

Hermione, however, could not look away. In particular, a portrait labelled as Charlotte Shafiq neé Malfoy seemed to have caught her eye, though she would claim that this was because the witch in the portrait was staring right back at her. _It's probably because I don't look like everyone else_. She didn't, of course, as Hermione wasn't exactly what one might call 'fashion conscious'. She had the new dress on, yes, and her shoes were nice enough - a gift from Narcissa, who said the low black heels were enchanted to keep her from losing her balance. She'd ruined any chance she had of looking elegant by pulling on her denim jacket, though, because it made her feel more comfortable. And so she entered into a silent staring contest with a portrait of a witch who had lived and died in the Middle Ages.

"What are you _doing_?"

"She's staring at me. And she started it."

"That's a _painting_. That's aunt Charlotte, by the way. Wave."

Hermione did as instructed, then felt rather foolish. She decided that the best way to express this was to elbow Draco's side - _hard_. "Why are we in here? There are only adults around."

"We're looking for people we know. Our age. At least, that's what mum told me to do."

"So Pansy Parkinson." She didn't even try to suppress her groan, and ignored Draco's laughter. "Worst Christmas ever."

"I don't know, I think mum liked the necklace you gave her."

"Sorry. Worst Christmas ever for _me_."

"Help me find Parkinson. And others." He sighed, grabbing her hand to drag her through the crowd.

It took a good half an hour, but they found several other children. Pansy Parkinson was washed out in green satin, a large flower at the waist of a gown made to echo the designs in her mothers. Even she didn't look pleased with this arrangement, standing near Theo in his formalwear. The Greengrass sisters weren't quite dressed to match, but Daphne's ruffled skirt and beaded bodice were awfully complicated alongside Astoria's, a bow at her waist and all in similar shades of pink. Millicent Bulstrode was lingering near Tracey Davis, silent as a bodyguard in a muggle film. The others they found were located accidentally, as Draco had forgotten they would be there: Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle and the Patil twins - spotted by Hermione, much to her surprise.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

"Rude," Padma chided. The two girls were dressed in matching saris, and both knew Hermione from school: Parvati from her dorm, and Padma from Transfiguration and History of Magic, where the girls sat together."And our father owns a business that Malfoy is interested in buying. Or at least that's what we were told."

"What are you doing?" asked Parvati as Padma rolled her dark eyes. "On a date with Malfoy junior?"

"What? _No_. I'm here for Christmas."

"_Are_ you, now?"

"Oh, shut it, Patil. Hermione and _Draco_ are betrothed. They just seem to handle it better than the rest of us."

"What's to handle better, Parkinson? It's not like any of us know who we've been paired with."

Seeing Hermione's curious gaze on her sister, Padma touched her arm to get her attention. "We weren't always well-off, so we couldn't afford to buy a proper seal. If you can't, the Ministry gives a makeshift one to whoever they choose for you. We don't need to know their sizes, so we don't know who they are."

"Well, _my_ family can afford to buy half of London, if they want, and even _I_ don't know who I'm to be matched with. I always thought that Draco's father had threatened someone into letting him know who he was paired with."

"What? That's ridiculous, Parkinson. Draco picked me at that meeting, of course he knows who I am." Hermione wasn't sure how many times she'd said this to other students, but Pansy's eyes seemed to darken at this information.

"He _chose_ you? Out of _everyone_? A _muggleborn_?" She scoffed openly. "Yeah, right, Granger - if that's true, I'm a blood traitor."

_A what?_ Hermione wondered. "It's true!" She raised her hand, the Malfoy heraldry glinting on her finger. "We even did the ritual, the one where the purebloods' father draws his wand and casts a spell tying the couples' hands together. It's symbolic of the wedding, you see, it's like a magical proposal. It stops the bond from being broken. And it's _irreversible_."

If she expected Pansy to speak, she would be disappointed: Daphne Greengrass was the one staring at her now. "You're telling the truth, aren't you?"

"Well, she's not _lying_." Draco, offended on her behalf, shuffled closer.

"Hermione's not a liar," Padma offered in support. Looking conflicted, Parvati nodded.

"He _chose_ you? People got to choose their pairs? And here we are, possibly gifted at the mercy of some muggleborn with a third nostril!"

"A third nostril?" Hermione echoed, confused. "Nobody at Hogwarts has a third nostril."

"Our pair goes to _Hogwarts_? Do they really?"

"How do _you_ know all of this? You can't possibly know anyone who did the choosing."

"Well, no, I don't, but Professor McGonagall sat us down with Harry and Ron and told us all about it, how it works and why they changed the rules after Draco picked."

"Harry? As in Harry _Potter_?"

"_Changed_ them?"

"Well, yes," Hermione told the group, growing more and more confused as she described the reasoning explored in _The Rationale Behind the Ministry_ and by her head of house. Crabbe and Goyle, true to character, appeared to be becoming steadily angrier. Padma and Tracey seemed to be fascinated with this information. Pansy, Daphne, Parvati and Millicent, however, were united in their growing annoyance.

"This is _rubbish_!" Pansy finally snapped. They didn't notice as the adults began to frown at them, their party interrupted.

"No, I promise, it's absolutely true. It's just what I've been told."

"_Favouritism_, that's what this is," Daphne hissed loudly. "Favouritism towards the Malfoy's and the know-it-all Gryffindor!"

"Excuse _you_, Greengrass, just because _you_ don't have a single smart bone in your body, doesn't mean Hermione's anything bad!"

"Oh, like you care, Patil! You think we don't see you and your girlfriend staring at Granger every chance you get? You think she's _pretty_, do you, with her buck teeth and her boring brown eyes and that birds nest she calls hair?"

"I do _not_," Parvati yelled at the Slytherin, her face red, "I repeat, do _not_ have a _thing_ for Hermione!"

Draco was trying to work out how on earth this argument had started when he noticed Hermione had fallen unusually quiet. Peering at her, he saw that she had moved to hide her teeth and her eyes were watering, the brown glimmering behind unshed tears. Acting on instinct, he stepped closer to her, close enough that he was in front and pressed against her protectively. "_Shut up_."

"How _dare_ you -"

"How dare _you_? You get invited to the Manor and you talk like a child on a playground, picking fights! You don't even see what you cause, do you, the pain you give to others? You're a bully, Daphne Greengrass, and it's no wonder your only friend is the only Slytherin who will be scared into it!" He was referring to Sue Li, a pureblood blood-traitor that was cold as ice and more likely to curse someone than bother to speak with them. The Li family went ignored by the Malfoy's almost constantly, because they simply weren't good enough.

"_Draco Lucius Malfoy_, _what_ do you think you're doing?"

Draco looked up at his father, burying his nervousness in his anger. His chin jutted out petulantly. "I won't let her come into our home and insult what's mine!"

The Malfoy patriarch's eyes remained cold as steel and the exact same colour. His own mouth was set into a disapproving line, the same line he wore when alone in a room with Hermione, something that had only happened once as he ventured into the library. "Take your pathetic mudblood and go," he ordered.

"_Fine_," snapped Draco, taking Hermione's hand again. He pulled her out of the ballroom, all eyes on them. He basked in this attention, didn't dare let it bring him down.

When they were alone, though, he stopped and faced Hermione. She was staring at a spot just over his shoulder, refusing to meet his eyes. The tears had begun to fall. "What are you crying about?"

There was a multitude of reasons: she had been right and she hadn't fit in at all at the stupid party. A Slytherin had made fun of her teeth, something that hadn't happened since she was in primary school. Shame that she was bothering to cry. Unfamiliarity, loneliness, doubt. That was the worst, of course, the doubt. Hermione hated not knowing with absolute certainty what her place was: outcast, welcome, or otherwise. "Your dad hates me," she told him. It was one reason.

"My dad's a jerk," he told her, and wiped away her tears with his thumb. "I should thank you."

"Why?"

"You just got us both out of that party. That really boring party. Well, that's not true. It's more interesting than last years. And plus, this time Mrs Parkinson's dress didn't rip - at least not while we were in the room."

That goaded a watery chuckle from her, but it wasn't quite enough. Draco was kicking himself for asking her to come. Of _course_ she did no good at a party full of people who had been trained from birth to behave like arrogant lords and ladies, because the grass wasn't really greener on the other side. It was a trick of the light that made the dead stalks seem brighter and more appealing, and she was much too homely for that. Too unique. Too _herself_.

_School can't go back soon enough_, he thought to himself as he tentatively hugging Hermione, unprompted, for the first time. She melted into his arms, letting herself fall into the touch of someone who didn't seem to want her gone. "Can I use one of my questions?"

"Can I stop you?"

"No. Hermione, are you going to be okay?"

She wished this didn't feel like a good thing, having someone to cling to. People inevitably abandoned you, or at least they had in her lifetime. She was just setting herself up for more misery.

In that moment, though, no amount of pride could change the fact that being alone could well cause more pain than it prevented. It was just a matter of perspective.

"Just don't go."

* * *

Back in the ballroom, Charlotte's portrait looked on as Lucius attempted to calm the guests, to cease the gossip before it began. She could see that this could go one of two ways: either everyone would be talking about it, or no one would. Thinking it through, she decided that the latter would be the worst for the girl who didn't fit in. She had seen it before, after all, and the cure had been exposure.

Slipping out of her portrait, Charlotte smiled. "Are you here?"

"Of course I'm here. Where else is there to go?"

"I heard something. Something you could report."

"Anything good?"

The blonde witch, animate despite having died over half a millenia ago, grinned. "Oh, it's the best, I promise you."

* * *

**Characters: **Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Narcissa Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, Parvati Patil, Padma Patil, Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass, Theodore Nott, Charlotte Shafiq nee Malfoy.

**Prompts: T**he grass is greener on the other side.

**Word count: **3,743

**Song: **_Watercolour_ by Pendulum.

**A/N: **I meant to post this in chapter 12, but it slipped my mind due to lateness. If you look me up under the same username (KristieConspiracy) on Tumblr, you will find a series of posts relating to Diamonds. Many of these are 'dreamcasting' completed by me, including Malfoy ancestors and characters in the story. I won't post the story itself there, of course, but scenes that don't fit in _Diamonds_ might end up on there, if not also in _Priceless_ (check my profile page here on FF for that, if you haven't already). URL is .com.

**Secondly**: This will most likely stretch through the rest of the Harry Potter series: Chamber of Secrets, Prisoner of Azkaban, and so forth. I already have ideas for scenes to work into the equivalent of the later books. My question is this: Would you prefer I continue to post here, or start a new story for each new book-equivalent? (ie. _Diamonds_ = _Philosopher's Stone_, _Snakeskin_ = _Chamber of Secrets_, and so forth)

**UPDATED: **Factored in the final question and the gift Draco got for Hermione. Gag gift and serious gifts abound!


	14. do your worst

**_D_iamonds**

**14\. do your worst**

_Yeah, do your worst, when worlds collide  
Let their fear collapse, bring no surprise_

* * *

The study was cluttered and it looked like chaos incarnate. If it was used as a games room for children, it would seem more appropriate than it being a place for work. If one looked closely, however, they would see the wealth beneath the mess: a heavy oak antique desk, a collection of expensive pens - still in their boxes, as most were gifts, things given by the wealthy people known by the owners father.

The owner herself was hunched over the desk, still writing. She had ten minutes before Barnabas Cuffe himself would come through the door, ready to read the piece she'd been keeping a complete secret. She'd been in the room for a few days now, working on her big piece. It'd be a huge deal, really, but she had to get it _right_ or it wouldn't work.

It had a scandalous air to it, the sort of thing Rita bloody Skeeter usually covered. But Skeeter didn't know about _this_, not for sure, not more than a rumour. And this touched politics, gossip and conspiracy, which meant it'd even appeal to those odd fans of _the Quibbler_. Maybe she could sell publication rights to Lovegood afterwards, too. If he was true to nature at all, he'd drag this out until summer, at least.

"Is it finished yet? Is it any good?"

"_Shh_, Charlotte, I'm almost done. Just one - more - word - there!" She looked up at the gilt framed portrait, grinning. "There's going to be a field day when this goes to press! I owe you so much for this."

The woman in the portrait, blonde and beautiful navy gown, beamed down at her descendant. She had selected Betty over all the Braithwaite cousins alive then. Of the five hovering around the wizarding world today, the young journalist was the one who inherited the family home - not chosen by Charlotte, but by her great-granddaughter - and the furniture, chosen by countless others. Passed down, mother to daughter, until Laurie Braithwaite had died in childbirth. She'd always been a sickly young woman, but Betty, despite being her spitting image, was vibrant and full of life. Charlotte couldn't imagine Betty sick or weak. She'd even had her name legally changed to her mother's, first chance she got - she didn't want to be known for being related to her boss. It was a clever move, actually, to avoid people accusing her of favouritism.

A knock sounded against the door, followed by a _crack_ as the house elf left the hall. "Come in!" Betty was on her feet facing the door in an instant, pulling a stray strand of her brown hair out from behind her glasses. "Did Ella offer you anything to eat?"

The man rubbed his beard, then shook his head. "I told her to leave me be. Now come hereand give me a hug, Bets."

She shook her head, but did as told, her bare feet small and pale against the wooden floor. She looked a right mess, of course, and judging by her body odour she'd used a charm to clean herself, rather than actually bathe. In contrast, he smelt of lavender - the body soap his wife used. _Showered together again_, Betty decided, releasing the hug. "Thanks for coming, dad."

"Ah, you sounded excited for a story. That hasn't happened for a while. And you were so proud." Barnabas Cuffe glanced at the portrait. "Are you eavesdropping again, lady Shafiq?"

"You know 'tis more help than you wish to give me credit for. I swear I provided actual, factual 'evidence' this time. Though I continue to fail to understand what your problem with gossip is. 'Twas the lifeblood of England, while I lived."

"Don't pretend you actually talk like someone out of a fictional medieval book, lady Shafiq, we know better."

"I do spend a lot of time here. Much more than I should. What must the Malfoys think, that their lovely painted lady spends so little time in their fancy ballroom?"

"I'm sure you loved playing in that room when you were a child."

"As a Malfoy? Well. Perhaps when grandfather was around."

Barnabas frowned slightly, then shook his head, refocusing. "What's this article you've written, Betty?"

"Oh! Come have a look. Here." She rummaged through the papers, producing her final copy. "Less than 500 words. Perfect front page length."

"Bit cocky there, Bets."

She grinned. "You'll see why."

Shrugging, Barnabas Cuffe started to read through his daughters' work. She and Charlotte seemed to be communicating silently in the background, letting him read in peace. The two women got along wonderfully - Charlotte was probably the best friend Betty had ever had, and that included Hogwarts. After a couple of minutes, the editor in chief of the _Daily Propet_, the most widely read wizarding newspaper in the UK, looked up.

"Front page, Betty. Front page."

* * *

Hermione was getting rather sick of everyone staring at her. She'd been back at Hogwarts for one night, classes were about to resume. And everyone was _staring_. "I look exactly the same as I did before Christmas," she said crossly, almost hitting Neville in the arm when she swung her satchel back over her shoulder.

"I'm not saying anything."

"What? Why not?"

He coughed. "This is me being quiet."

"Oh, you're being silly. What happened to you over the holiday? You used to talk more."

"Just give it time," Neville mumbled.

"What was that?"

"Hello, Blaise! How was your Christmas?"

"Fine. Spent some time with my mum," the Slytherin frowned at Neville, "as I planned to. Why, is that not allowed anymore?"

"What? No! Of course it's allowed. I just -"

"I'm messing with you, Longbottom." Blaise slapped his shoulder, smirking now. "Gryffindor table or does her highness want to talk to her prince?"

"Why would she -?"

"She hasn't seen the _Prophet_ yet? I thought she got it delivered."

"Yes, Blaise, I do. At breakfast. Like everyone else. And I'm right here, I won't bite your head off if you talk to me directly."

"You probably will, Hermione. You're very high strung, don't you know."

"And you're very happy. Did somebody drug you?"

"Drug me? Why, who would do that?"

"Probably Theo. One of his stupid jokes. Just like those annoying Weasley twins."

"Ah, and poison of vipers is on your lips. That was cruel, Gryffindor."

Hermione jerked, glaring at the new arrival. Theo must have materialised out of the darkness of the dungeons, but he was tanned from wherever his father had taken him over Christmas. "Was that a bible quote? Aren't you pureblooded?"

"And what, I can't read? My mother was Christian, Hermione. Now Slytherin table with us, or all alone at Gryffindor?"

"Slytherin. They don't stare as much as that Lavender Brown." She was also trying to avoid Parvati Patil, but that wasn't something the boys needed to know while they walked with her to the other table.

She was wrong, though. Slytherins_ were_ staring. They were whispering among themselves, flicking glances at them. She ignored them as she took the seat beside Draco, slipping out from between Neville and Theo to take the empty seat.

"Morning."

He grunted back at her.

"Dorm bed too hard for you?"

Instead of providing a scathing retort, as he usually would, he shoved the thing he'd been staring at towards her. On closer examination, she saw that it was the most recent issue of the _Daily Prophet_. Front page.

Where a picture of Lucius Malfoy took up half the piece of paper. "_What_?" Hermione gaped, before unfolding it to have a look at the article.

_ MALFOY MARRIAGE LAW MANIPULATION: FACT_

_ Written by Betty Braithwaite_

_ Everyone knows about favouritism, and everyone knows about the Ministry and its supposed  
corruption. But does everyone know that it's true? This reporter doesn't think everyone has the  
facts._

_ Every pureblood child knows about the marriage law imposed in 1988. For readers who don't,  
here's the gist of it: the Ministry was reeling in the aftermath of the biggest loss of magical life in  
centuries. And they had seen what the hatred of things that were different did, both in the war and  
afterwards. Purebloods threatened muggleborns and half-bloods. Afterwards, the non-purebloods  
got their revenge by treating the purebloods the way they had been treated. _

_ Minister Advisor Cornelius Fudge and Minister for Magic Millicent Bagnold worked together to plan  
the perfect solution: combine the two groups. Wed purebloods to muggleborns and half-bloods.  
Couples couldn't hate each other. So, pass a marriage law._

_ Students and staff at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry have been wondering since this  
school year started: how is it possible that Draco Malfoy, a member of a family famous for anti-  
muggle beliefs, seems to actually care for his muggle-born pair, one Hermione Granger?_

_ The Ministry has always been very clear on the matter of how the pairs were chosen. A random  
lottery picked out a pureblood, and then a non-pureblood of the opposite gender. This was  
repeated for each age group: children born in and after September, 1978. The law would only apply  
to children who weren't already of an age to go to Hogwarts in 1988._

_ But everyone has heard the rumours about the Malfoy heir, have they not? That Lucius Malfoy was  
able to arrange for his son to be exempt from the lottery. Oh, he would still have to be married to a  
non-pureblood, that was non-negotiable. But the boy would be the one to choose his match. _

_ The only one._

_ All of this escalated dramatically at the annual Malfoy family Christmas formal, when the young  
Malfoy leapt to the defence of his muggle-born. According to witnesses, the boy outright shouted  
at his father when he said something insulting towards Miss Granger. 'It was very sweet,' one  
witness shared, 'but also rather disappointing. Is this how the best of purebloods will fall?'_

_ Not all opinions were so negative, however. Another witness to the same exchange said that it was  
'a brilliant indicator of what is to come. If that's our future, then we've got nothing to worry about.'_

_ Article continued on page 9._

Hermione stared at the page for several minutes without saying anything. Draco stared morosely at his half-eaten toast, not willing to take another bite. Neville, Blaise and Theo each looked at each other, their thoughts obviously the same: _crap. It broke Hermione._

"What _is_ it?"

"_Prophet_ article, Neville," Blaise said. "It _is_ about her. I thought she'd already seen it and that was why she's in a bad mood."

"No. That was because Lavender's been staring at her and whispering since they came downstairs from their dorm, and she really doesn't like Lavender much."

"Who's Lavender?"

Theo frowned. "She hangs around Patil sometimes. The insane one."

"You don't own me." The three boys looked at Hermione, more worried by her whisper than they should've been.

"What?"

"Draco Malfoy, you do _not_ own me. Do you hear me? _I do not belong to you_."

It took almost a minute, but Draco looked up at her, his cold silver eyes fixing on her warm brown ones. After a moment, he nodded. "Fine. I don't own you. Deal."

"It better be," she snapped, and stole a piece of his toast. "I've got Herbology first. I think you've got History of Magic."

* * *

They didn't, as it turned out, have any classes first thing that morning. Professor Dumbledore himself stood up and announced that _none_ of the students would be attending their first class. "In light of todays news, all students are excused from their first period classes. Third year students will follow Professor Snape, furthest to the left. Second years will follow Professor Cauldwell. First years are to follow Professor McGonagall. All other students are excused from their classes."

"Does he think we can't work out where to go? Professor McGonagall _is_ standing furthest from Professor Snape. It's pretty clear where we need to go."

"Are you going to be like this all day, or is this something that will go away if I ignore it?"

Neville groaned, looking away from Blaise. He didn't even _want_ to know what the Slytherin thought he was doing, picking a fight with Hermione Granger, of all people, who knew more than half their grade put together. It was kind of like baiting a dragon: not at all clever and incredibly dangerous.

"You're right. I'll keep it to myself."

"Seriously? That easily?"

"I will hit you, Theo, and not just because I know you're afraid of germs and it'll turn out to be even worse than a bruise."

Theo rolled his eyes and leant back. He'd taken a seat just behind her and Draco, alongside Blaise. Professor McGonagall had led the first years to a large classroom that wasn't being used for classes, designed more like a lecture hall than a typical classroom. Blaise and Theo could both lean forward to have their heads between Neville and Hermione and Hermione and Draco, respectively. They were quite comfortable in their little group. With Hermione in the middle, she could pretend people weren't still staring at her and Draco and whispering among themselves.

"May I have your attention, please?"

The students fell quiet quickly, as they were wont to when Minerva McGonagall began speaking. She wasn't the sort of person one crossed, not if they could help it.

"It has come to our attention that many of you have been behaving rather badly, given your situations. Is anyone here unfamiliar with the marriage law? Yes, I do mean the law that was passed in 1988 _and _the one that was in the paper this morning, Miss Moon, do pay attention. Anyone else? No? Very well, then.

"Apparently, none of you are actually aware of who you've been paired with. Peculiar way for the Ministry to handle things, but I'm not here to pass criticism on their methods. That said, I have a list here of who has been paired with whom." She raised a piece of paper. "Provided by the Pairing Registration Commission at the Ministry at the request of Professor Dumbledore. I assure you, they are all accurate. Now, if everyone could please stand when I call your name and move to the front of the room, I'm sure you'll all be relieved to finally have your questions put to rest. And _yes_, Miss Brown, I assure you that these decisions are final and cannot be compromised. No, Mister Malfoy, you and Miss Granger are not exempt from this, except that there is no need for you to stand before the rest of us in judgement."

Hermione sighed and leant back. She didn't notice as she leaned towards Draco, but her other friends do. Theo outright snorted, though he managed to wait from through three pairs before doing so. He didn't quite block out the huge Vincent Crabbe being told that he would have to wed a tiny half-African Hufflepuff called Sally-Ann Perks. The pair shuffled off together, his stomach grumbling despite the fact that they had only just had breakfast.

She didn't try too hard to listen until McGonagall got up to male students whose surnames started with G. Anthony Goldstein, a Jewish Ravenclaw boy, drifted to the back of the room with a book and his housemate, Megan Jones. Gregory Goyle, as it turned out, had been assigned the second of the Hufflepuff Sallys, Sally Smith, to be precise. And then she called Neville, who almost tripped out of his seat.

"And Susan Bones," said McGonagall. A red-haired Hufflepuff with a face like a doll stood up, removing her fingers from her mouth. It looked like she had been chewing her nails, something she stopped before she offered her hand for Neville to shake.

"Hi," she said, her voice barely more than a squeak. She was taller than him, too, which made her look almost like a muggle model. Hermione's eyebrows rose as Draco nudged her.

"I wish we could see his face," he murmured in her ear. Hermione bit her lip to keep herself from laughing.

Theo was next, called out just before Harry Potter was. The name 'Cassie Runcorn' was called immediately after, and he didn't hesitate as he nodded to the third Hufflepuff to be paired with a Slytheirn. She had curly brown hair, blue eyes and pale skin: she looked more like a Scandinavian than a British citizen.

And then Harry Potter, the name everyone was looking forward to finding out about. "Harry Potter," Professor McGonagall read out, Hermione watching her face carefully as her eyebrows shot upwards. "And Parvati Patil? Well, I'll be a..."

Whatever the Professor said next was lost as Harry and Parvati stared at each other, apparently not sure what to think about this discovery. _Potter _and _Patil_, of all people? There were probably worse matches.

For example, before the hour was done, Ron Weasley found out that he was going to be stuck with Millicent Bulstrode. Millicent Bulstrode, a Slytherin he'd made it very clear he didn't like, a girl who looked like she would be able to pick him up and throw him across the room without breaking a sweat. Millicent Bulstrode, whose name was inspired by the Minister who'd proposed the law that had put them all in this mess to start with.

Finally, Blaise was given his pair - Padma Patil - and McGonagall looked up at all of them. There wasn't a word being spoken in the room. Hermione and Draco were the only people still sitting, the only students at all comfortable with the declarations made in that hour. They were both silent, but only because they were waiting for someone to crack.

"Millicent Bulstrode," Ron Weasleys voice could finally be heard. "Milling bloody Bulstrode. Seriously? This isn't a nightmare?"

"_Mister Weasley_! Five points from Gryffindor for that atrocious comment," barked McGonagall. "These pairings are _not_ things to argue over or question. They exist. One of each of you is pureblood, and the other isn't. The point of this entire exercise is to encourage generations of disdain and rivalry and _misery_ to _end_. There is no need for this ridiculous behaviour to continue. You will each learn to respect your partners through a series of activities prescribed by Professor Dumbledore himself. Any comments? No? You are dismissed. And yes, Miss Brown, you are to attend your second period classes."

The classroom emptied neither quickly nor slowly, as students torn between anger, confusion and shock left the room at varying degrees of sprinting and shuffling. Draco and Hermione didn't move beyond his helping her to her feet until the room was mostly empty: Blaise, Theo and Harry Potter were still in the room.

"Alright, I know that you two are waiting for us," Draco nodded to his friends, "but what's _he_ doing here?"

Harry sighed and frowned. "Parvati Patil. What am I meant to do with that?"

"Ah, I think that's meant to be your choice, Potter. What do you want?"

He pushed his glasses back up his nose. "Ron and Millicent Bulstrode. That's what they said, right? She looks like she could bench-press him."

"What?"

But Hermione had chuckled slightly, drawing Draco's attention. He couldn't decide whether to be pleased that she seemed to be less irritable, or annoyed that he'd laughed at bloody _Potter_. "He kind of deserves to be bench-pressed, Harry."

"Yeah, he does, doesn't he? It's like he _wants_ god to rain fire and brimstone down on him." Even Theo's eyebrows went up following this comment: having a Christian mother, he would get the reference to damnation. "See you around."

"Sure. See you."

Draco waited until Harry had left the room before he spoke up, shaking his head. "Alright, now _I'm_ confused. Isn't he meant to be a git?"

"He is a git," Hermione assured him. "He's just more polite than Ron Weasley. I've got Charms before the morning break, I'll see you then. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Blaise scoffed when he heard that. "He's Draco _Malfoy_. Like he can do anything well."

* * *

**Characters: **Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Betty Braithwaite, Barnabas Cuffe, Harry Potter, Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore.

**Prompt: H**ighly strong.

**Word count: **3,347.

**Song:** _Watercolour_ by Pendulum.

**A/N: **Here you all are, what you've been asking for: who Ron and Harry have been paired with - Millicent Bulstrode and Parvati Patil. I realise these aren't exactly _convincing_ pairs, but I've explained the selection process the Ministry used before. I used a similar method, actually: I numbered a list of purebloods and non-purebloods and used a random number generator to pair them off (except for Theodore Nott, paired with Cassie Runcorn, and Blaise, paired with Padma, and Daphne Greengrass, paired with Kevin Entwhistle). The coincidence with Crabbe and Goyle getting the Sally's was entertaining to me, though, since the two seem to share everything else, so I included it here.

For a full list of whose been paired with whom, I suggest checking out the second chapter of _Priceless_. I'm planning on a file of 100-200 word ficlets of each couple; I'll be sure to upload it later tonight.


	15. come on

**_D_iamonds**

**15\. come on**

_Feed the fire, break your vision  
Throw your fists up, come on with me_

* * *

"I assure each of you that these activities have been planned to bring you closer together. We can't have inter-pair fighting, after all, can we?"

Nobody laughed at Dumbledore's joke except for himself. Even Draco and Hermione, who got along just fine, had taken issue to this ridiculous proposal. Not the least of it was because it was Saturday, and Hermione had already written up her study schedule for exams. That morning was supposed to be defending oneself against dangerous plants, for Herbology: venomous tentacula, mandrake, and Devil's Snare, to name a few.

"I _need_ to study!" she snapped. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Hermione, you're the smartest person in this entire _room_. Don't try to tell me you haven't already managed to get every single thing we were taught this year lodged in your head."

Theo, standing close by them with Cassie-really-just-Cassie Runcorn, snorted. "Would you two quit it? We all know you love each other very much."

"Theodore!" said Cassie in horror, almost dropping her ring. "Don't be rude!"

"What? It's the truth."

"We don't _love_ each other, you idiot. Who bothers with that rubbish, except Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty and I can't believe I just said that." Draco grimaced, looking down at Hermione's hand, twisting around her wrist and the bracelet he had given her for Christmas. She paused to look up from the dainty golden chain, raising an eyebrow.

"Not bad. But you forgot Snow White."

"I knew that. I was just testing you and your memory."

"Oh, yeah right."

"Mister Malfoy, Miss Granger, if you would please be quiet?"

Hermione blushed and nodded quickly as Draco opened his mouth to produce a scathing retort; how _dare_ this madman address him directly? But she stomped on his foot - _hard_ \- beneath the table. His word choice was reduced to a tiny whimper. Somewhere nearby, a Gryffindor laughed.

"Thank you, Miss Granger. Now, where was I? Ah, of course. Today the exercise shall be a scavenger hunt!"

At least a quarter of the first-years groaned aloud at that. "You're _kidding_," Blaise hissed from beside Padma Patil. "We're not six!"

"Be that as it may, Mister Zabini, I assure you this particular hunt will not be your typical hunt. You will each need a camera, provided by the school," he waved his wand to conjure up a camera within reach of each pair, "an enchanted checklist, so that you know what you have collected," he waved his wand again, "and of course you are each allowed a pen," once more, "and your wands. _However_, magic is to be kept at a minimum. There will be an additional reward for whichever pair manages to use the least magic."

Hermione grimaced. "Bribery," she muttered under her breath, "again. I'd rather be studying."

"I _know_," Draco muttered, "and while I agree, I do wish you'd stop talking over the madman."

"There are no time limits except the usual curfew. First finished will, of course, get a reward, as will second and third. Other pairs that finish will receive house points. None of these activities require you to access an out-of-bounds area or to leave the Hogwarts grounds at all. Some of them require logic, some chance, some searching. Any objects that I have not told you of cannot be used to your advantage, unless the object on the list specifically states that you do. Pairs must stay together - yes, even if you do happen to be from different houses, Mister Weasley. None of the clues require you to take a non-house member to your dorm, of that I am certain. Lunch will be served at twelve in the Great Hall, as per usual. Yes, you may have a break to eat lunch, though not everyone, I am sure, will do so.

"I believe that's everything. Now: off you go!"

Hermione didn't move as the room emptied, and neither did Draco. She was frowning at the page of clues, all hints that needed to be solved. "This is absolutely ridiculous. There must be two dozen of these!"

"Yes. There are twenty-four, Hermione, just check the numbers." Blaise leant over her shoulder, pointing to the bottom of the page. _24_ was written alongside the hint in emerald green ink.

"Shouldn't you be making a run for it?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Draco? But no," Blaise told him, "I was going to head up to the library. I'm waiting for them to get some books that aren't dull texts."

"They aren't _dull_," said his partner, "just poorly written. If you can get past the fact that it takes eight pages to get out what should have taken half a page, then they're fascinating reads."

"Hello, Padma," Hermione sighed. "You're going along with this?"

"I don't care about some silly competition, if that's what you're implying. As for this idea of Zabini's, it _could_ work. Except the library is closed to first years today. I checked." Hermione had never seen the Ravenclaw half of the twins look quite so forlorn, but she could understand it.

Hermione sighed. "If I can't go to the library, then we may as well do this competition."

"Thank you! Now convince Harry."

"What?" A half-second later, she realised her mistake: it hadn't been Padma who'd spoken, but her sister. "What are you doing here?"

"My sister's here, Hermione, aren't you paying attention? No. Anyway, here's Harry -"

"My arm's sore," said the boy who lived, and Parvati shot him a glare to quiet him.

"Stop complaining, I didn't even hit you. Not like Bulstrode and Ron." She laughed aloud. "Serves him right for being such a git to her."

"Is that the word of the week or something? Because _everyone_ is calling the Weasel a git."

"_Theo_?"

"If you're surprised that he's here, Hermione, you haven't been paying as much mind to everyone else as I thought," Draco pointed out. "He doesn't do anything if he can get away with _not_ doing it."

She shook her head. "Fine. Draco, Harry, Parvati, Padma, Blaise, Theo, Cassie - hi, Cassie, by the way, I hope you're well?"

"Fine, thank you," she said, her tone almost sing-song and pleasing to listen to. She was in the same Astronomy class as Hermione, sometimes they worked nearby, though they didn't often talk. "And yourself?"

"Well enough. Where's Neville? If we're all working together, then he might as well tag along."

"I'm not working with Potter!" came Draco's protest. Hermione shot him a glare.

"I'm not giving you a choice."

"Hi," came the last voice, Nevilles, as he waved slightly. "Hermione, this is Susan, Susan Bones. You know her, right?"

"A little." She smiled slightly at the red-head, nodding. "Hello."

"Hi." She had a quiet voice, barely more than a whisper. "What's the first clue?"

"Oh. Uh. Draco?"

He had the paper because she'd pushed it into his hands when Parvati had first spoken, startling her. "'I'm a magical object, a joke gift and more, I remember all you forget but I won't tell you what I know. What am I?'."

Neville, of all of them, was first to laugh. "All they really do is confuse and annoy the owner!"

"Didn't Hermione say that about the thing your nan bought you?"

"_Exactly_, Theo!" Neville shoved his hand deep in his pocket, grinning, and pulled out a ball that was, yet again, full of red smoke. He ignored this, holding it out to them all. "Does anyone know how to use a camera? Because I know what Hermione needs to write for the answer."

"I do," Cassie said, raising it in her fingers. "But we all need a photo of it. Each pair."

"_Right_. Good point." Draco pushed the paper into Hermione's hand and took the Remembrall from Neville. "Smile for the camera, Hermione!"

She rolled her eyes as he took the picture, grinning nonetheless. "_Honestly_."

* * *

"But that's a bit bleak, isn't it?"

"Why are you surprised? The teachers probably all worked together to come up with these clues. If Professor Snape made this one up, it would make sense. Or even if Mister Filch wrote it, it would make sense."

The group of students were the only ones out in the grounds. They had found a spot under a tree that was almost devoid of what was left of the snow, and after some arguing amongst themselves, Hermione had conjured up a blue fire to warm them as they ate what Neville, Susan, Theo and Cassie had grabbed for them from the Great Hall. This included sandwiches, chips, some fruit, pastries and a selection of Chocolate Frogs and Licorice Wands that Cassie seemed to have smuggled in.

"I still don't like it. We'd have to head back inside and go down to check. And we don't know how to light anything up, not yet, so how will we see to know when we've found them?"

"Well, they can't be that hard to find. They probably rattle like the Bloody Baron, if they're really down there," Hermione reasoned, sipping her glass of pumpkin juice.

"We could just ask one of the boys. They sleep down there, they _have_ to know."

"No, we don't -"

"Know what?"

Hermione groaned: if Blaise gave them the answer, he'd lord it over them for at least a month. "Nothing."

Padma peered at the Gryffindor. "But if he can tell us for sure, it'd put us one step closer to winning!"

"Didn't you want to go sit in the library instead of competing?"

"Yes, because I know how I can get. Zabini, where did people used to get hung up in the dungeons?"

"Oh, that's the third hallway past the potions classroom Snape uses."

Everyone looked up at Harry, staring. He was focusing on pulling apart some kind of pastry that Susan had grabbed on the notion that someone other than her had to like muggle pies. As everything had gone quiet, he looked up and, seeing everyone's eyes on him, blushed. "What? I got detention from Filch."

"He can't hand out detentions, he's the caretaker, isn't he?"

"Okay, let me rephrase: I was out late visiting Hagrid and he busted me because _someone_ was sneaking around."

"Hey, don't blame me!" Draco snapped, "It's not my fault you're only about as capable of sneaking around as that Hagrid fellow."

"That makes a lot of sense, since it was _him_ I was visiting at the time!"

"There was a monster in the Forest that killed a bloody_ unicorn_, Potter, and he had a _dragon_ in his cabin. A _wooden_ cabin. And everyone knows he can't do magic properly, so if something attacked him or a fire started he wouldn't be able to fight it off or put it out."

Parvati was gaping openly at Draco now, apparently astounded by the discovery that the Slytherin had stalked the boy she was essentially engaged to because of a warped concern for the gamekeeper. "You're kidding," she said, in a very small voice.

"You did _what_?" Hermione snapped.

"We got detention," Neville said slowly, "didn't he tell you? Professor McGonagall caught us all out of bed in the morning."

"In the morning? But -"

"It was one, according to the nosy old witch," Draco sighed.

"Hagrid, that's _it_!" cried Padma, startling the lot of them. "It's so obvious, why didn't we think of it before?"

"_No_, Patil, I'm talking about McGonagall. Why would I still be talking about Hagrid?"

"Out of concern for his well-being, apparently," Parvati reasoned, frowning. "Padma, where are you going? Bring him back!"

The Ravenclaw twin had leapt to her feet and grabbed Harry, dragging him with her. She had then proceeded to pull him out from beneath the tree and towards the little hut at the edge of the forest. The remaining eight looked at each other, sharing a collective expression of confused doubt, and scrambled to follow them. "What are you _doing_?"

"The seventeenth clue, Zabini! It's so obvious, now that you've mentioned it properly. 'I could be anything, as it's plain to see, the trick is finding me in among the trees'. We just have to find something in the Forest, only we're not allowed in restricted areas. But Hagrid _is_. And he's friends with Harry, so he'll help. He _has_ to."

"That... makes sense, actually." Hermione agreed slowly, then sped up to keep pace with them. "What's this Hagrid person like?"

"Tall. Big."

"Thanks for that, Draco," she rolled her eyes yet again as Padma beat on the door. After a moment, the giant with the scraggly beard and dark, warm eyes opened them, restraining a gigantic black boarhound. These eyes moved over Parvati curiously, and over the group, before alighting on Neville, Draco and Harry.

"Boys! Haven' got detention again, do yeh? An' draggin' this lot with yeh ain't too good."

"Hello, Hagrid," Harry said, glancing back at everyone. "Er, scavenger hunt. We're looking for something. Parvati, what did you say we needed?"

"We need a photo of a magical animal. Something out of the Forest."

"All of yeh? Do yeh, now?"

"Yes. I don't know if we can all get a photo of the same thing, though. Maybe three different things." Parvati frowned. Hermione shook her head as Neville spoke up.

"Can you help us?"

"Help yeh?" Hagrid chuckled. "I already got summat to show you. C'mon, anything ter keep yeh away from Fluffy."

"Is he still there, Hagrid? In the corridor."

"I told yeh to quit asking tha', Harry, 'nd I stand by it. 'S not righ', yeh poking yer nose where it shouldn' be."

"Fluffy? Really?" Hermione frowned. "That thing is called Fluffy?"

"Well, yeah, he's mine."

"Really? Where'd you get him?"

"What are you lot talking about?" Blaise asked, annoyed at being ignored. Hagrid coughed and refused to say any more on the subject, while Harry, Hermione and Neville shared a knowing look.

"Now, this here is a Blood-Sucking Bugbear," Hagrid said, pointing to a sleeping creature that looked like a cross between an angry-looking stuffed bear and a bat, given its snout and ears. "They're nocturnal, in tha' they sleep all day. If yeh look closely, yeh'll see a bowtruckle in this box. Viscious little blighters, these things, th' size of yeh hand there," he told them, pointing between the box and Susan Bones, who had the smallest hands of all of them.

"What's third?"

"Firenze there," Hagrid said, nodding to the fence between his vegetable patch and the Forest. There, a man stood sentinel, inclining his head to the group when they looked upon him. "He's a centaur. Proud things, bu' decen' enough, too. Firenze volunteered for this."

Parvati was gaping as she stared at the centaur, apparently not having expected to see this, not today. Harry smiled nervously, and Draco glanced to the side. He wasn't proud of what he'd done when faced with Firenze last, but he'd never admit that aloud. "Hello, Harry Potter. Are you staying out of trouble?"

"I'm trying, Firenze, thanks."

"And Draco Malfoy. I am pleased to see you are not so pale in the light." Draco almost covered his face with his hands to hide the subtle blush that touched his cheek. He hunched over the bowtruckles box to take a photo, grimacing and refusing to meet anyones gaze until they had left the hut.

"Three more!" Padma crowed, beaming, much to Blaise's amusement. Theo and Cassie trailed behind, heads bent over the list as they examined the final three clues. They still had the chains to consider, and Harry was to show them just where, exactly, they were.

"That centaur seemed to recognise you," Hermione pointed out to Draco. She was half smiling, though trying to keep the amusement from showing on her face. "Have you met?"

"Detention," he said miserably, and wouldn't say more. Neville grinned.

"He screamed the first time he met Firenze."

"I did not! It was a yelp. A good, manly yelp."

"Yeah, right, and I'm Godric Griffindor," Harry snickered from ahead of them. He yelped himself when Parvati whacked his arm and scolded him for eavesdropping, though of course she was a gossipmonger herself and was filing all of this away for future discussion with Lavender.

"There was this weird monster thing in the Forest, apparently. I wasn't there, Harry and Draco were, and I was with Hagrid. But they said it was drinking blood from a unicorn."

"It's a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn," Harry said, his tone much quieter than before. It was as though he were reciting a verse from some poem or other, the way it rolled off his tongue like something familiar. Parvati didn't seem to have the heart to hit him as he thought.

"Oh! Neville, I just realised, we _can't_ head up to the castle yet, we just can't. There's one more thing to find in the grounds. Clue number twenty-four!"

"What are you talking about, Hermione?"

"Hush, Susan, let Neville read the clue. 'Drop your guard, dead you'll be'..."

"'Out in the sun, you're safe from my fun'," Neville finished, frowning. "Oh! I see. That's clever, that's really clever."

"And yet you got it, Longbottom, so it can't be quite as much as you think," Theo sneered. His mockery was lost on Neville, who sped up - walking _away_ from the castle.

"What's the answer, Theo, if you're so clever?" Hermione snapped, then went after Neville. Draco laughed at Theo's expression, while Cassie and Susan seemed distressed. Neither of them could decide whether to defend anyone, as their Hufflepuff natures demanded, or let them be themselves. Giving up on coming to a solution, they instead followed Neville and Hermione up to the greenhouses.

One of them had windows that were entirely blacked out; this was the one that the group followed Neville into. "Devil's Snare," he told them, almost clapping his hands in pride of his recognition of thing. Then he frowned. "I don't know the spell to light it up."

"_Caeruleus inflamari_," Hermione intoned, aiming her wand at the edge of the patch. She kept it trained there as she focused. "Take the pictures already, would you? I don't think Professor Sprout would be pleased to find we had burned her plants."

Having that pointed out, they headed back up to the castle to deal with the last two clues. One of them they found in the darkness of the dungeon, illuminating it with the same blue fire Hermione had used to deter the vicious plant: shackles hanging from the wall, a row of ten, designed to hold one upright against the wall, stuck by their wrists with no way to get comfortable. Susan and Padma outright refused to look at them, though Hermione looked on in fascination. _A History of Magical Punishments_ told about wizards trapped in places just like this, wandless, rotting away in the dark. Morbid, yes, but interesting.

"What's this last one?"

"What, number thirteen?"

"Yes. 'I alone have the secret of immortality'."

"That's it?"

"Let me see," Draco finally demanded, holding out his hand for the paper. Hermione shook her head and handed it over, grimacing.

"That sounds like something you'd have to find in the library," Parvati groaned. "Hermione, you're in there all the time, is that where you'd find it?"

"Yes, it is, and that's all very good and well," Padma answered in her place, "only the library is closed, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Well, we could break in."

"_Absolutely not_," Hermione said at the exact same time as Harry. The two exchanged a look.

"We don't know why it's shut, there could be something dangerous in there or Madam Pince could be cleaning or sick or anything. We don't know what'll happen if we just charge right in!"

"Well, yeah, there's that," Harry agreed, "but plus if we go to a restricted area we can't win, remember?"

"What is _with_ these cards?"

They frowned, turning to look at Cassie, who had paused half-way up the staircase behind them. She was scowling at something in her hand, and she moved through the stack quickly, flicking through them.

"Dumbledore, every one of them! What're the chances of all twenty cards being him?"

"Slim to non-existent," Padma said quickly. Cassie groaned in frustration. Their stares didn't waver, stunned that the quiet Hufflepuff was losing her temper. Over _collectible cards_, of all things.

"I already _know_ that he beat Grindelwald and discovered the twelve uses of dragon's blood and worked with Nicolas Flamel and likes tenpin -"

"Say that again," Draco said slowly. He had watched as Hermione tensed up.

Theo snorted. "Please, by all means, go insane over a picture once again. I don't mind."

"Likes tenpin bowling?" Cassie asked, confused and shooting Theo a reproachful look.

"No, before that - that name."

"Oh. Nicolas Flamel. They worked on alchemy together."

"Of _course_," Hermione grinned, then turned to Neville. "Quick, who wanders around the castle the most?"

"Harry," came the reply, wary. "Why?"

Hermione didn't answer, turning to the boy with the glasses. "There's a portrait somewhere on the fourth floor, of a wizard with short hair and pale green eyes, almost white, really, and his face would be a bit long like a horses. He would be using an alchemy set or a potions set, and the background would be gold. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

"Yes," he said slowly. It was just past the entrance to the passage that led from the fourth floor down to the dungeons.

"Good. We need to find that portrait, Harry, it's the last one! Nicolas Flamel, immortal. Obvious!"

"Why is that obvious?"

"He and his wife, Perenelle, they own the elixir of life. Of course they do, they have the source, like a fountain of youth - _the Philosophers Stone_. Immortality!"

None of them understood what she was on about, of course, except for Harry, who recognised the name from something Hagrid had said once. Whatever was hidden was, after all, between Dumbledore and _Nicolas Flamel_. Nicolas Flamel, the alchemist, if Hermione was right - and she _must_ be, because she was Hermione Granger, genius prodigious muggle-born Gryffindor.

He led them to the portrait, greeting him directly. When he heard his name, the wizard in the portrait smiled.

"Clever children, are you not?"

They certainly thought so when they won the scavenger hunt none of them had really wanted to start. More so when they saw Ron's black eye, though Harry was concerned and at his side instantly. Apparently, Millicent Bulstrode had punched him in the face when he'd asked if her mother looked like a boar, just like her. Even the kind hearted Hufflepuff girls had to laugh at that.

* * *

**Characters: **Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Blaise Zabini, Padma Patil, Theodore Nott, Cassie Runcorn, Neville Longbottom, Susan Bones, Harry Potter, Parvati Patil, Ron Weasley, Millicent Bulstrode.

**Word count: **3,760.

**Song: **_Watercolour_ by Pendulum.

**A/N: **Wasn't sure I was going to be able to get this one up today as the power was out. It actually went out _immediately_ after I saved the new chapter, so I suppose, if nothing else, that's a pro.

Hermione has worked with most of the girls, or at least sat near them in classes. Cassie obsessively collects Chocolate Frog cards. Padma's clever and keeps most of her opinions to herself, and Parvati can't keep her mouth shut. Susan...Susan is beyond me at this point. I need to work on her a bit. Maybe the Gryffindor pairing chapter in Priceless. Harry is sympathetic to Hermione, he's at least a little fond of her and not the least of it is because Ron is a bit of an ass. Draco, Theo, Blaise and Neville ended up being mates. I have no real reason as to why.

**Also: if you check _Priceless_, the pairings of the Ravenclaw males have been uploaded there (chapter 2). This covers them and their 'match':  
** Terry Boot / Megan Jones  
Michael Corner / Lavender Brown  
Kevin Entwhistle / Daphne Greengrass  
Anthony Goldstein / Amanda "Mandy" Brocklehurst  
Wayne Hopkins / Sophie Roper  
Hamlin Mauricius / Fay Dunbar


	16. be alone

**_D_iamonds**

**16\. be alone**

_I like to be by myself  
I hate to be alone_

* * *

"Everyone _knows_ that it was Granger who won the stupid game. Little miss perfect and her perfect boyfriend."

"And yet the Ravenclaw Patil was the one who won. Her and Blaise. Are you saying Blaise isn't clever enough to win some stupid scavenger hunt, Daphne?"

"Oh, do be quiet, Millicent, you've still got blood on your hands for punching out Weasley. She should have at least come second."

"Longbottom and Susan Bones."

"Third!"

"Theo and Runcorn."

"It doesn't make any sense! She didn't take the win. She gave it to a bunch of Slytherins and to Longbottom, of all people."

"You do realise Draco could've done that, don't you? Not necessarily her."

Daphne tucked her hair behind her ear, scoffing quietly. "You really think he's actually in control of Granger? The Malfoy family isn't on top any more, Millicent."

Meanwhile, Hermione was completely ignoring their inane gossip from three desks in front of them. "You had detention with Harry and Neville?" she asked. Draco shrugged.

"Yeah, so what?"

Theo was eavesdropping as he worked across the aisle with Blaise, a half-finished drowsiness draught simmering in their cauldron. "How is it possible that none of us heard about this?"

"You didn't ask and it was none of your business. I know none of you understand the concept, but it's perfectly believable, trust me."

"Reasonable," Hermione corrected him as she measured out the crushed lavender.

"What?"

"It's perfectly reasonable, not perfectly believable. That makes it sound as though you're lying to them."

"Right, that makes sense. It's perfectly _reasonable_, Theo, trust me."

"Sure. You'll have to forgive me for not taking you at your word on that. Now how did you get detention?"

He sighed. "I caught Potter breaking curfew, him and Weasley, and I followed them both. Hard to see them in the dark, but I managed without making an idiot of myself and tripping down the stairs. Or something like that. Then I heard them say they'd be out again three nights later, so I followed them. I told Goyle I was going to be late back to the common room and tell Blaise - we were meant to be working on that essay on the 1726 Goblin Rebellion in Italy. I think Neville overheard, because he followed me, and we both got caught by McGonagall. She got Potter and the Weasley, too - though only because she waited outside of Gryffindor Tower, they came back a different way. Something about a dragon and Hagrid and the man was moaning and crying about someone called Norbert."

"Norbert?"

Draco shrugged. "I didn't ask. I was in a bad mood because I was told that I had to go with Potter because Weasley refused to go with me and apparently I'm likely to eat Neville if left alone with him, at least according to the git. Anyway, Potter just kept talking - as much as Hermione does when she's studying."

"I don't talk _that_ much!"

"You really do."

"_And_ you keep talking over him. Would you be quiet for a few minutes and let him finish up?"

Hermione sneered at Blaise but did fall quiet, turning her focus to the rhythmic stirring of their cauldron as Draco finished his story.

"So anyway, Potter was talking - about the weather or Weasley or Hermione answering questions or the reasons that Slytherins are awful people - he was talking the entire time, until we got to this clearing in the Forest. Where we found the dead unicorn. And this - _bloody hell_ \- this _thing_ was leaning over the unicorn, all black against all white and there was silver _everywhere_, the unicorns blood I guess. The _thing_ was drinking its blood, and I didn't see anything after that because I, um, _decided_ that it would be better if I, er, found Hagrid and let him know that we had found the unicorn."

"So that was when you screamed?"

"It was a yelp!"

Hermione chuckled as a shadow was cast over her desk. Still smiling, she looked up. "Is there a problem, Professor? We're almost finished."

Snape stared at her and Draco, his dark gaze frighteningly fixed on them. Hermione didn't let her own gaze waver, watching him closely. "No problem, Miss Granger. Just keep your talking to yourself, you are interrupting my class."

She watched as the eerie Professor left, her smile faltering. "He's so creepy," she murmured.

"He's fine," Draco shrugged. But Hermione could not shake the feeling that she was missing something.

Professor Snape had, after all, been eavesdropping on the tale of the unicorn and the blood sucking monster in the forest.

* * *

Two weeks later, Draco was trying to stay quiet - he really was - but it was so _tempting_. Plus, the sound of pages turning was noise, wasn't it, and yet he was allowed to do _that_. Good thing, too, since they were sitting in a library.

Hermione had her head in her hands, slouched over one of the two dozen books she'd decided she had to study for their upcoming Defence Against the Dark Arts exam. Only she wasn't reading them.

Neville had been shooting her furtive glances over and over again, until she finally lost patience with him. "Either keep your eyes to yourself or go far, _far_ away, Neville!"

Much to the surprise of Draco, Neville got straight to his feet. He gathered the books he'd grabbed, his notes and his pen, and he stared right at her. "We're your friends. We can _help_."

"I'm _fine_."

"You're not fine, Hermione. Don't try to pretend you are."

And this was why Draco was staying very, very quiet: he had no interest in getting thrown out, too, sent into exile. Neville was the most recent addition: Blaise and Theo had already been cast out. Thus far, she hadn't admitted that she was in a bad mood. It was just a matter of time.

_I hope._

"I'm _not_ in a bad mood," Hermione insisted, even though he hadn't said anything. "I just have a headache."

"Persistent headache," he muttered.

She shot him a glare. "What was that?"

"You should see Madam Pomfrey."

"No, I shouldn't. It's not that kind of headache."

"There are different kinds? Really?"

"You don't sound too happy about that."

"Forgive me for honestly thinking I _shouldn't_. What kind of headache is it?"

"Does it matter?"

"_Hermione_."

She sighed. "I have a really strong feeling that something bad is about to happen. I'm not used to it?"

"Feeling? Ow! You didn't have to kick me."

Her expression said, rather clearly, that _yes_, she did. It softened into a curious stare as she looked at something over Draco's shoulder, and after a moment, he turned to see what had drawn her focus. Harry Potter, of all people, was standing right behind him, frowning slightly. "Are you two okay?"

"I'm _fine_," Hermione said, after Draco winced. He was starting to wish people would stop asking her that.

"Lost the Weasel again, Potter?"

"Sort of. I need to talk to both of you."

"Be careful how you go about that. Hermione's in a bad mood."

"I am _not_ -"

"Hermione's _studying_, is that better? Yes. Okay. What do you want, Potter?"

"I want to talk to the two of you about the Philosopher's Stone."

* * *

**Characters: **Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass, Theodore Nott, Millicent Bulstrode, Harry Potter, Severus Snape.

**Word count: **1,216

**Song: **_I Am_ by Hilary Duff.

**A/N: **Filler. Short because I have other things to do, but I wanted to keep up my daily post. I think I'm nearing the end of this story, but I'm debating where to go with the climax: canon or non-canon?

All of that said, this is how the prizes ended up working out due to Hermione convincing Draco, who refused to hand it over to Potter even though they're on relatively civil terms now. It's also how they got detention together - Harry, Neville and Draco, I mean. The story is coming to a close.

Thanks for all the feedback, by the way! Someone pointed out that I had this listed under 'angst', I changed it to 'parody' due to the AU aspect.


	17. in between

**_D_iamonds**

**17\. in between**

_I'm an angel, I'm a devil_  
_I am sometimes in between_

* * *

Hermione got to her feet immediately and strode away. Harry and Draco shared a bemused glance - though neither could read the thoughts of the other, Draco knew he was thinking _what's she doing?_ He could guess that Potter's thoughts were much the same as they shrugged and followed her.

She walked right out of the library, finding an empty classroom, not that this was a challenge as the only thing left to take place that day was dinner. She turned to face the door as soon as she walked in and, after the boys had entered, aimed her wand at the door, casting something to muffle their speech.

Then, much to Draco's surprise, she shoved Harry so that he ended up pressed against the door, grasping the handle to stay upright. "I'm _not_ helping you break school rules because _you_ picked a fool for a friend, Harry Potter!"

"Hey, this isn't really about Ron, Hermione -"

"I don't care if the Philosopher's Stone _is_ the thing that three-headed dog - _Fluffy_ \- is guarding, I refuse to help you find it. Not when there's a chance I could be _expelled_ over it!"

"Are you serious? Is she actually _serious_?"

Draco didn't answer Harry, instead staring at the two of them. "_What_?"

"What d'you mean, 'what'?"

"I mean, I _know_ you Gryffindors are insane, but why would the Philosopher's Stone, of all things, be on Hogwarts grounds? Is this some kind of twisted test, to see if I'll believe your garbage and fit into your group?"

"No. What? Don't be stupid, Malfoy, you're only here because you followed Hermione as well. I don't want _your_ help."

"_What_!"

Harry opened his mouth to speak again, only to be interrupted when Hermione shoved him again, the wood of her wand biting into his skin. "You _don't_ insult him, Harry Potter, do you hear me? Not while I'm standing right beside him."

"You're always right beside him," he retorted under his breath. Hermione glared and moved to shove him again, only to be held back - Draco had grabbed her arm to pull her back, to keep her from attacking Potter again.

"Yes, and I'm always beside her. That's not the point, Potter, and you know it. What did you want to ask?"

"What it does. The Philosopher's Stone, I mean. What does the Philosopher's Stone do?"

"The usual medieval alchemical miracles." Hermione frowned at him. "Turn metal to gold, produce a liquid to ensure immortality. Why are you asking me about this, instead of Madam Pince?"

"'Hi, Madam Pince. Where can I find information about the magical stone hidden somewhere in Hogwarts? It's just that I think someone's going to try to steal it so that Voldemort can come back and destroy the world'. Yeah, that'll go over well."

"He has a point."

"_Draco_."

"What? He does. Telling a professor that he knows about something they're all trying to hide is more likely to get him kicked out than end in his saving the stone."

"You believe him, do you?"

"No. You-Know-Who is dead, has been for ten years. Things like that _can't_ come back."

"People, Draco. He was a person."

The Slytherin scoffed. "He killed and ordered the death of thousands of people like -"

"Yes?"

"People who didn't agree with its - _his_ \- ideas. They tended to turn up dead, Hermione. It stopped when the war ended. You know all of this. Stop making me talk about it, alright?"

"Ron says that _his_ dad said that _your_ dad was one of Voldemort's supporters during the war. One of the most loyal out of _every one_ of his followers."

"Harry!"

"No, Hermione, it's fine. Potter: I am _not_ my father. You know nothing about my life, no matter what your pet Weasel thinks he knows. He doesn't like me, I don't like him, and I don't _want_ him to like me _or_ Hermione. I certainly don't want him knowing anything about my home life."

Harry looked uncomfortable with this argument. "Fine, fair enough. Now I have a problem."

"Someone's looking to steal the Stone. You already said. It's none of our business, Harry. None of yours, either."

"Right, yeah, except it is. If Voldemort comes back, it'll be every ones business, won't it? We'll all be in danger. You for being muggle-born, me for being me, and him for being,..."

"_Betrothed_ to someone like me, just like half the other purebloods our age? That doesn't make any sense and you have to know that. Such blind hatred of anyone different is completely illogical."

"Actually, You-Know-Who was a half-blood. What? I know my history. We sent you about eight books on blood status, didn't we?"

"Is that like the 'royal' we or a sarcastic 'my family' we?"

"Sarcastic? How is that sarcastic? Mum suggested the books, and she's family. Or has that changed?"

"Can we go back to the Stone, please? How would it help Voldemort?"

"You're joking."

"Probably not," Hermione disagreed, "he genuinely doesn't know. Harry and Ron aren't exactly the sort to read, as best I can tell."

"And they're still here?"

"_Malfoy_. Do me a favour and answer the question."

"The elixir of life. I'm right, aren't I?" He watched Hermione nod, then smirked. "If it had a body, the elixir would keep it alive, let it gain strength."

"He's male, Draco, monster or not. But yes. In theory, he's right: drinking the elixir of life could probably return You-Know-Who to life."

"Yes, exactly!" Harry cried, beginning to pace. "It all makes sense. He tries to get past Fluffy and Fluffy bites him, so he limps - he must've released the troll as a distraction for Dumbledore and everyone else. He tries to knock me off my broom with that jinx or whatever it was. He threatens Quirrel, then he takes over in Quidditch, and of course Hagrid wants a _dragon_ but who would know that?"

"What's he talking about now?"

"His broom started bucking in the first Quidditch match. We all thought it was some trick to get pity points, but then he almost fell off and I decided he probably wasn't."

"That was _you_? _You_ set Snape on fire?"

"Not Snape, no. Quirrel's turban. His _face_ -"

"How have you not been expelled?" Hermione asked, shaking her head.

Draco coughed. "Right. Family connections - you wouldn't get expelled either."

"That's not the point!"

"Isn't it?"

Harry wasn't listening any more, still pacing. He'd made it to the front of the classroom, posters and notes over the chalkboard. It looked like one of Oliver Woods practice sessions, plans and diagrams everywhere. Plans for...something.

Plans.

"I need one of you to come with me. Or both of you."

"What? No. Come with you where?"

"Hermione, I am _not_ helping Potter. You can't make me."

"I just said we weren't, Draco, but I can still ask."

"Beyond the trap door."

* * *

"You didn't have to hex him."

"Well he shouldn't have suggested that I break the rules, should he?"

"And hexing him outside of Defence Against the Dark Arts class isn't breaking the rules?"

"I will hit you, Draco. It will be a punch. I'm sure I know enough to make it hurt at least a little, from reading all those books you sent me. And a self-defence manual grandma Jean insisted I read through at least once every six months. Thumb on the outside, or you could fracture it."

"What?"

Hermione smiled, reaching for another book and adding it to the stack in his arms. "It makes sense, trust me."

"Yeah, that's what you say." He followed her around the corner of some more shelves. "It was pretty neat, the way you flattened him with that spell."

"It was, wasn't it? Can you see _A Guide to Defensive Practices_?"

"I don't think you need it. What kind of hex was it? Potter certainly didn't know the counter-curse."

"I don't think Harry knows much that isn't covered in class, to be honest. It was an _Entomorphis_ hex - you have to have read about it, it's in _Spellman's Syllabary_ and _Multi-Purpose Hexes, Jinxes and Charms._ Both books _you _bought me. You must have read them."

"I actually haven't read all of the books you were sent. You see, _I_ have a life."

"What's that got to do with anything when you're so obviously thinking of doing something incredibly reckless?"

"I am not."

"Harry Potter got to you, didn't he, Draco? You think that someone's going to try to steal the Philosopher's Stone from within Hogwarts, even though it probably isn't here and Harry's just insane. I wouldn't be surprise, given how he's suddenly discovered he's famous after years of thinking he's nobody. It could be a cry for attention or desperation or pretty much anything. Maybe he's imagining things. Wouldn't be the first time a stressful situation caused someone to lose their mind."

"'Stressful situation'? Is that what it's called?"

"Starting at a new school, in a world you didn't know existed? It's not relaxing. And my point is, _you're_ going to do something stupid. You're going to track him down and go with him, aren't you?"

"I'm not going to do anything to get myself into trouble."

"_Draco._"

"You wouldn't be guessing any of this if you weren't thinking of it, too."

"Yes, well, I'm in Gryffindor. I'm supposed to be like this, aren't I? Rebellious. Reckless."

"Difficult. Impulsive."

"And Harry's worse than me. Much more Gryffindor."

"He could get him and the Weasel killed."

"And we could keep them alive."

"It's our responsibility, really. Save the Boy Who Lived."

"So I should tell Harry that I'm sorry for the hex and ask him how to smuggle you into Gryffindor tower?"

"Only if you think I'll be any use."

"Of course you will. You can distract the guards."

"Thanks, Hermione."

"No need to be sarcastic. You really will be useful."

"Now why am I not feeling reassured?"

"Mostly because you're paranoid and crazy and Slytherin."

* * *

**Characters: **Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter.

**Word count: **1,667

**Song used: **_I Am_ by Hilary Duff.

**A/N:** We're winding up now - at least the events of _PS_.


	18. i am

**_D_iamonds**

**18\. I am**

_I am wonderful  
And powerful  
Unstoppable_

* * *

As it turned out, she didn't need Harry's help to smuggle Draco into the Gryffindor common room. She just had to convince him not to tell any other Slytherins what the password was, _especially_ not Theo, who, as it turned out, had been the one who talked Draco into setting Quirrel's turban on fire. He agreed easily enough, and she let him and Neville into the Tower.

"What do you mean, you don't know the password? Neville, you're actually _in_ Gryffindor. How do you not know the password?"

"You already know I don't have a good memory. Can you stop rubbing it in?"

"And I was having such fun." Draco smirked, looking around the room. It was stone, better lit than the dungeon room - it helped that the fires burning in the brazier and fireplace were all red instead of the flickering, eerie green used in the dungeons. The chairs were red velvet and didn't look nearly as lush as the black leather he was used to. The windows looked out into the night sky, while the dungeons peered into the constant motion of the green depths beneath the lake. He preferred the green - the height actually made him feel a little nauseous.

"Okay, why is he here again? Studying? Which you can't do in the library because...?"

"It's closed. Something about a prank - it wasn't Theo, so it must have been the ones you lot talk about."

"Fred and George Weasley?" Hermione tilted her head, dropping some books onto a vacant table and gesturing for Draco to sit. "It probably was. Those two are trouble."

"At least they're fun."

"_Neville_, didn't you need help with something?"

"Transfiguration. I got an extension on the last essay but McGonagall wants it by Monday, and I don't know if I can write it."

"The Gamp's Law essay?"

"Wasn't that due in April?"

"Yes. Be nice, Draco. What don't you understand, Neville?"

"The only thing I can remember is the food."

"First law? Okay, so the second law states that..."

* * *

They were still sitting there when the common room was almost empty, Hermione looking over the essay Neville had finished thanks to their meddling. She was still sitting with Draco, who was dozing in his chair. He jerked awake as she zipped her pencil-case shut. "'Tis it time?"

"Did you just say 'tis'?"

"_Hermione_."

She nodded to the staircase he had supposed led to the boys dormitories. Turning his head, he identified two figures standing beneath the arch. Potter and the Weasel, side by side.

"Ah. That's a yes, then."

The couple got to their feet, standing side by side like soldiers on the same side of a battlefield. Each of them were waiting for an attack from Ron: Hermione would leap to Draco's defence, and he would leap to hers. To both of their surprise, he offered no threats.

"I don't care right now. Even if you are a - never mind. I'm helping Harry stop Snape and that's it. I don't have to make nice with either of you, and that's my only reason for agreeing to this. Harry needs someone he can trust."

"Didn't think you'd think that one through, Weasel. Not bad."

Ron grimaced. "Thanks, Malfoy. I think."

"We should go. Filch will start his rounds soon and I'd rather not get caught doing what we're about to do."

* * *

Except for a chance almost-encounter with Mrs Norris, the caretakers cat, and with the castle poltergeist. Ron wanted to kick the cat, and Draco was all for it. More rational minds won out when Harry pointed out that she'd make a run for Filch

"Peeves," said Harry, "the Bloody Baron has his own reasons for being invisible."

After the poltergeist zoomed away, Ron complimented Harry's quick thinking. Hermione tensed beside Draco as the Slytherin hissed his own opinion; "That's not what the Baron sounds like, Potter."

"I didn't hear you saying anything, Malfoy. Sorry if my thinking wasn't quick enough, but everyone knows he only listens to your creepy house ghost."

"What's with the chains, anyway? Did he get locked up for something?"

"If you must know, Weasel, the rumours say that he wears the chains to remind everyone of how dangerous he really is. They say he wears them to remind everyone how he once strangled dozens men as they slept for the crime of sleeping with someone who didn't deserve them. Supposedly, he'd creep into their homes at the dead of night and strangle them with the chains, using a charm to silence their death throes as their lover, worth so much more than them, slept soundly beside him. And he'd slip away as though nothing had happened, and the partner would wake to a dead man at her side. When he was finally caught, he was flayed until he died of blood loss, his body in shock. Only he swore to continue to punish unworthy lovers, and so he returned as a ghost to do exactly that."

"Is that true?"

"No," Draco told Ron, "he's the _Bloody Baron_. He doesn't talk to students, that's the point of him - I've got no idea why he carries around chains, and it's rather annoying at night when we're trying to sleep. Fun making you think he had a horror story background, though."

Hermione sighed and the rest of the way to the third floor corridor, the four of them were silent. Seeing that the door was already open a crack, Harry winced. "Snape's already here. "

"As if it's going to be Snape," Draco interrupted. He stopped talking when Hermione pinched him.

"Listen, none of you have to come. I understand if you want to go back to your dorms. You especially, Malfoy."

"Don't be stupid, I already said I'm not leaving you alone with Malfoy and Hermione."

"Why don't you just call me Granger?" Hermione crossed her arms. "We all know that if you're right you'll get yourselves killed without my help."

"Fine, I suppose that makes sense. But Malfoy -"

"I am _not_ leaving her alone with you two. You'll do something impossibly stupid and get her hurt, and I can stop that from happening."

"Can you really?" Hermione sounded sceptical, although she thought it was rather sweet. Less so when he clarified:

"What would it say about the Malfoys if something happened to her?"

"Thanks, Draco," she snapped, sarcastic. "Give me the flute, Harry, there must be a reason you have it."

"Oh, yeah. Hagrid told me and Ron that Fluffy falls to sleep if you play music to it. Start playing as soon as we go inside."

"What exactly _is_ this 'Fluffy'?"

"Three headed dog," Ron answered instantly, not watching Draco's jaw drop. He could guess that the reaction would be something like that.

"_What_? Hermione, is he serious?"

Hermione didn't answer, as Harry had unlocked the door with a charm. She had to take a breath in preparation for playing the flute while the boys slipped down the trapdoor. The flute was whittled, the wood rough against her fingers. The sound she managed to get from it was not a tune and certainly wasn't a song. Fortunately Fluffy didn't seem to mind, and each of its three heads began to droop.

"Merlin," Draco breathed, eyes practically bugging out off his head. "How did you three know about this?" He was acutely aware of the size of the dog, the jaws that could bite off a grown mans leg in an instant.

He was twelve. He didn't _have_ a grown mans leg.

He was sure he was going to die.

"Want to go first, Hermione? We should be able to open it."

She shook her head, pausing to take another breath before blowing into the flute again. One of the dogs heads stirred, eyelids fluttering. She took a step backwards, playing another distorted note and trying to convince herself that she wasn't afraid.

"Fine, I'll go."

"What's down there? Can you see anything, Ron?"

"Nothing - it's just black. I can't see a way to climb down, we're gonna have to drop."

"Alright. I'm going first. If anything happens to me, don't follow. Just find Dumbledore and warn him, alright? Tell him Voldemort is coming back, that Snape has the Stone, tell him everything."

"Right."

Draco was trying to see down the hole. He couldn't see the bottom at all, couldn't even see the walls that Ron said were there. "If this is such a big deal, why are you going so slowly?"

"We're moving Malfoy, don't worry about it. See you all in a minute. Probably. I hope."

Down he went, his messy hair disappearing out of sight. Draco, Hermione and Ron looked on as he did so, grimacing at the speed. They were hoping it would turn out to be a slide, if nothing else. There was no other silver lining they could think of. After what seemed like several long minutes, Harry finally called up the shaft, "It's fine!"

"I'm next. Hermione, don't stop playing. No matter what," Ron ordered, and then slid in after Harry. A moment passed before Ron's yelp faded out of sight. Hermione was still playing.

"We could turn around," Draco told her, "walk right out of here. They'd probably be fine. What's the worst thing that could be down there?"

Hermione raised hereyebrows and nodded towards Fluffy, continuing to play. She couldn't risk being harmed by the monstrous dog.

He sighed. "It was worth a shot. I'll go first. Go right after me, okay?"

The look she gave him spoke volumes. _As if I'm going to leave you alone with the boys you refuse to get along with_, her eyes seemed to say. He shook his head. "If this kills me, Hermione, you'll never hear the end of it." He slipped through the door Ron had just passed through.

Hermione continued to play for two minutes, her eyes darting between each of the three heads of Fluffy. It seemed to still be sleeping, soothed by the music. But it wasn't to last.

She stopped playing.

The effect was immediate: Fluffy awoke, first one head, then the other two. It sniffed the air, seemed almost to yawn. And then it barked at her, but too late: she had already gone for the trapdoor.

And down she slid, down, down, down into the dark...

* * *

"D'you think she's going to back out and leave us here?" Ron was asking. "She's not much like a Gryffindor, after all."

"The word is 'brave', if you believe her," Draco retorted, "I think it should be 'stupid'. She'll be here - oof!"

Ron laughed as Hermione collided with Draco, landing on top of him with a shriek. "We must be _miles_ under the school. Sorry, Draco."

"Lucky this plant is here, really," Ron agreed indirectly.

"Plant? Draco, let go of my ankle and I'll get off you."

"I'm not holding your ankle."

"The plant we've landed on. Harry reckons it's here to break the fall."

Hermione looked up at him, then shot to her feet, struggling against the grip on her ankle. "_Lucky_! Look at you all, you're practically _cocooned_!"

"What?"

As soon as she was free, she dove for the wall right behind Draco, where the plant couldn't quite reach. Every instinct screamed for her to stop and go back, to pry it off of Draco, who she had so irresponsibly dragged into this mess. Only that was illogical, wasn't it? It would trap her before she could do anything to help.

Harry and Ron were trapped worse than Draco, who leant forward and tried to tear it away from his legs with his nails. Judging by his wince and gasping, this wasn't working: if anything, it was tightening, tightening until it forced his legs to lose all feeling, tightening until they would be nothing but dead weight.

"Stop moving!" she ordered, seeing Harry and Ron in the same predicament. The difference was that their wrists were caught, bound tight just like their legs. "I know what this is," she realised, still yelling, "it's Devil's Snare."

"I'm so glad we know what it's called, that's a great help," snarled Ron, but Hermione's eyes were on Draco, who had stopped struggling the second she said to. He knew how clever she was, after all, how quick of mind: she would know what to do, how to save them. She _had_ to.

"Shut up, Weasel, she needs to think."

"Well, hurry up, I can't breathe!"

"What was the rhyme during the scavenger hunt? Something about deadly fun and - and - oh -"

"Sun, Hermione, _sun_ rhymes with fun."

"Would you hurry up!"

"Oh, of _course_, the bluebell flames! _Caeruleus inflamari_."

Blue flames ignited the tips of the vines of Devil's Snare. They danced up the length, scalding Draco's skin, and for a moment he was sure his pale skin would be burned before they fell away. But fall away they did, and Draco scrambled back up against the wall, where Hermione grabbed his forearm and held him against the wall, as though her weak writers grip was strong enough to win in a fight against the creeping weed. "Thanks," he managed, grimacing. "Those things are -" Apparently he couldn't think of a way to finish the sentence that voiced what he meant, but she knew. They all did.

"Oi! Still here!"

"Oh, right. Sorry." She cast the spell twice more, spreading the flames between Harry and Ron. The Gryffindors were free within seconds.

"Good thing Malfoy remembers everything you've ever done."

"Too bad he didn't remember sooner," Ron snapped, pulling a face at them. "And too bad she almost left us there!"

"I wouldn't have."

"That's true. I wouldn't let her."

"_What_?"

"I'm betting there's only one way out of here, and I'm betting we need Potter to find it."

Ron actually seemed to relax in response to this statement. He was, Draco decided, the sort of person who had to be able to categorise absolutely everything: an enemy was an enemy and nothing else, a teacher's pet was a teacher's pet, and a friend was exactly that. None of the categories could intersect and the borders certainly couldn't be blurred, or Ronald Weasley would become even more unbearable than he usually was.

Draco decided that he didn't like categories. Neatly sorted names embodied everything he had decided that he hated in that instant.

"This way," Harry told them, and led them down a stone passageway that was every bit as dank as the first cavernous room, the one covered with Devil's Snare. Water trickled down the walls, dripping constantly - for the first time since he'd come face to face with Hermione's terrible mood that morning, he felt as though he was walking a familiar path. But this place wasn't welcoming; there was no sense of home, no green light to show them the way.

And so they followed the sound of Harry Potter's footsteps as he led them further into the black, down a sloping path none of them had expected to find down there, regardless of what they might have told themselves to look out for. Their expectations varied: dragons, spectres, monsters. Hermione's grandma Jean went to church every week and came home with stories about the Devil and possession. Hermione half expected to come face to face with a fallen angel.

"Can you hear something?" Ron whispered. "Do you think it's a ghost?"

"Only the Baron carries chains, and he's always around the dungeons about now." Draco could hear it to, the rhythmic faint rustling and clinking from up ahead. "It's too gentle to be him, anyway."

"It sounds like wings," Harry murmured back. Hermione frowned.

"There's light ahead, isn't there? I can see something moving."

She was right, as per usual. At the end of the passageway was a chamber lit more brightly than anything they had seen in the rest of the castle, as though someone had trapped sunlight in the room. And Harry had been right, too, for once: birds coloured like priceless gemstones flew overhead, none of them graceful. They collided over and over, and this was the source of the chiming chinks they had heard from the passageway. Beyond it all was a door, one that looked every bit as heavy as the door to the Great Hall. "Do you think they'll attack us if we try and cross the room?"

"Probably," Harry said, and then continued on a rather typically Gryffindor strain. Draco took off his cloak and moved to put it around Hermione, ignoring the boys.

"What are you doing?" she hissed, caught off guard.

"You're shivering," was all he offered. He didn't want her to get scratched by the birds as they followed Potter across the room.

The birds paid them no mind, and they were beside the door within moments. Of course it was locked, though. "Nothing can ever be easy," Draco groaned after Hermione attempted a charm that didn't work.

"Now what?"

"The birds," Hermione looked up, peering up at them. "They're not just decoration, they _can't_ be."

"The colouring's a bit off. I've never seen birds like this."

"What do you know about birds?"

"My mum keeps an aviary on the Manor grounds."

"Of course she does. Of course she bloody does."

"They're not birds! They're _keys_, winged keys - look at them carefully. But then - yes - look! Brooms! We've got to catch the key that fits the door."

Hermione groaned. "There are _hundreds_ of them."

"Patience," Draco said, smirking in spite of everything.

"We're looking for a big, old fashioned key. I think it'll be silver, like the handle."

"Better than nothing, I suppose. I am _not_ flying."

"There are only three, Hermione. I wasn't going to ask you to."

"Then -?"

Draco took the broom the second it was offered, leaning away from Hermione to mount it. It was an old school broom, rickety and slow and clumsy, but it was enough. He had Harry Potter on his side for once, after all, and Potter knew what he was looking for. An old key, battered, and silver and large...

"There, with bright blue wings. The feathers are all crumpled on one side." Harry, Ron and Draco approached it. "We need to herd it - Ron, from above, Malfoy, below. _Don't_ let it past you. I'll try to catch it -"

"_Try_? How about a little reassurance, Potter, Quidditch hero that you are."

"Shut up, Malfoy - right - _now_!"

Ron dived, Malfoy shot up and though the key missed both of them, it didn't seem to care that the two collided with an ungodly _crunch_, though Hermione's cry from below them suggested that she did. A second _crunch_ came from Harry's direction as he pinned the key against the cold, damp brick.

The door opened the second the key turned in the lock, perfectly functional despite the damage it has sustained. It flew past Ron and Draco on their way to the ground, arguing heatedly regarding exactly which of them was to blame for their collision. Hermione went to Draco's side, demanding he let her see - after all, she'd read all about breaks and bruises and could identify them in an instant, she was sure.

Harry opened the door to nothing, releasing the key to resume its flight. It disappeared into the masses of keys above them, and only once he had stepped through into the next room did any of them pay any mind to the task at hand.

Flooded with light, the chessboard was clear of everything except pieces. Chess pieces. They towered over all of them, first-years as they were. They looked as though they would make seventh year students seem small. The white pieces directly opposite them were faceless. Hermione pulled the cloak tighter around her, grimacing. "Creepy."

Draco silently agreed, but he didn't say as much. He was staring across the room, playing it out in his head. Chess wasn't his favourite game, but he could beat Theo. Not that this was saying much, given his classmates arrogance. The question was, who was better: Theo or an army of gigantic chess pieces?

"Now what do we do?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?" said Ron. "Now, we play."

Ron took control, and though it was Draco's instinct to argue, Hermione didn't protest. She knew, after all, that this was the one thing Ron Weasley was better at than making people feel terrible. He had won every game of chess he had played since Hogwarts started, and this was going to happen again. "It has to," she mumbled.

"Harry, you go there - take the place of that bishop. Hermione, the rook beside him. Malfoy -"

"King?" he asked, but he didn't really mean it. Good thing, too.

"Malfoy, there. Other bishop."

"Oh, _that's_ not fair. Why can't I stand closer to -?"

"Because those are the pieces it's easiest to protect, if you must know."

"Then what about you?"

"I'm going to be a knight."

"Just because you take the place, doesn't make it true."

"Shut up and take the place of the bishop. White always plays first in chess - look, there." A white pawn had moved forward, looming ever closer.

"You better know what you're doing, Weasley."

"Yeah. I better."

* * *

Draco was shaking, despite the fact that he didn't care. He _didn't_. He didn't care. He told himself that over and over. Maybe if he said it enough times, it would become true.

"Bloody hell," Harry hissed. "That was..."

"_Awful,_" Hermione offered. Harry and Draco shook their heads.

"Brutal. I was thinking brutal," Draco managed. "Is it safe to leave him here?"

"The chess pieces won't move unless they have to play. He'll be fine."

"And he won't be alone," said Harry.

"He won't?"

"Malfoy's going to stay here with him."

"I'm what? No, I'm not. I'm staying with Hermione, I have to stay with Hermione."

"Harry, give us a minute." After the Boy Who Lived walked over to the doorway to wait for her, Hermione took Draco's hand, making him look at her as she did so. Her hair was wilder than usual, untamed by the events of the evening. In a strange way, she looked more human than she usually did, more imperfect and more flawed than she usually was. n this way, she was more herself than she had seemed before.

"You _can't_ go off with Potter, Hermione. He'll get you killed!"

"He won't, Draco. I have my wand, I know more than him, and I can look after myself. You of all people know that."

He was thinking of a party and of tears, a pureblood snapping insults and of a father who should know better. He was thinking of a time when she had needed him more than she needed her self-confidence, when she needed to feel. "What if he says something?"

"He's a boy. You always say stupid things, I can handle it from him. I'll be fine, Draco, I promise."

"Do you really?"

"I _swear_." And she did. She crossed her heart and smiled at him, and hoped that she could be right.

"Is that supposed to mean something to me? Hermione, he's a _Gryffindor_. Plus he's got nothing but bad luck, judging by his Quidditch performance."

"I don't believe in luck," she said, squeezing his hand, "just skill." She let go of his fingers and stepped away from him, pulling her wand out of her pocket. "Take a broom and get Ron out of here. You're meant to be good at flying, it should be easy for you."

"No. I'm not going anywhere without you."

She sighed. "_Fine_. Wait here with him. Make sure he wakes up sooner rather than later."

She gave him no time to argue, turning and joining Harry at the door. Draco watched as she nodded to the other boy, and then disappeared into the room. Then they were alone, just him and the unconscious Ron Weasley.

And the doorway was on fire.

* * *

**Characters: **Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom, Ron Weasley, Harry Potter.

**Word count: **4,013.

**Song used: **_I Am_ by Hilary Duff.

**A/N: **Sorry about the delay. We all know by now that was down yesterday, which meant I couldn't upload. Plus I ended up adding on the bit after the chess game. I know exactly where we're going from here - I expect only 1 or 2 more chapters until we're done. Thank you to all reviewers, follows and favourites.


	19. point our fingers

**_D_iamonds**

**19.** **point our fingers**

_All of us stand and point our fingers  
At the ground_

* * *

Hermione almost jumped a foot in the air, caught off guard by the sudden crackling of flames. They were burning purple, shooting off sparks. It was better than the stench of a fallen troll, but not by far. She tightened her hold on her wand. "Snape's challenge," Harry was saying, "what do we have to do?"

Hermione didn't answer, holding her breath. She was struggling to keep her hand steady, suddenly aware of every bruise she had received from debris in the chess game and from the fall straight through the trapdoor, right on top of Draco. Devil's Snare. Clever trap, really, on the part of Professor Sprout. He'd saved her from the vines.

Now she just had to save herself.

"Hermione, what - what are you doing?"

She almost smiled at the thrill that his panic sent down her spine, before she realised it wasn't a good thrill. Enjoying this made her more like the bullies she loathed, more like Ron Weasley. She didn't want to be like that - she wanted to be able to look back on her life and honestly believe that she had never done anything but the best thing she could have at the time. "I'm trying to stop something bad from happening."

"Should I be holding my hands over my head?" In spite of any fear he might have been feeling, he managed to sound sarcastic.

"Don't be silly, they're fine where they are. Just don't go for your wand, Harry, I'd hate to disarm you now."

"You have your wand pointed at my throat."

"I'm not going to cast anything, don't worry. Though if I wanted to, I'm sure you can guess how much trouble you'd be in."

"Yeah, I can guess. What do you want, Hermione?"

"I want you and Ron to leave Draco alone once we leave this place. I want you to swear that I will never again be twisted up in your clever little ideas, all these things that will end in who knows how many people losing their lives."

"What if I can't keep that promise?"

"The point is, and always will be, that you tried. But if you want a cost - I know more about magic than you. Of course I do, I read so much I probably know more than half the older students. I know spells that can cause you more pain than you've ever so much as imagined, spells that can literally melt your brain and every other part of your insides. You've seen the bluebell flames? Imagine them, running through your veins, burning away your blood. I know spells that can do exactly that."

"So you'll kill me?"

She stared at him, at his eyes. What was it people said? Just like his father, except for his eyes, the exact shape and shade of green as his mothers. Hermione didn't know if Lily Potter had ever looked at someone with the intensity Harry Potter was currently fixing on her, but she knew what was important to her: Slytherins. No matter how little sense it made to all the Gryffindors, or to all the people she shared classes with, that was what she cared about. The health of some random Slytherins and their ringleader, the boy who had literally picked her out of a crowd, picked her over everyone for the first time in her life. She hadn't understood what that meant at the time, of course, but she knew what it had meant for her when she saw the look in the eyes of people at Hogwarts, people who thought they knew all about the Malfoys and their legacy. She knew what pity was, and she knew the look that went along with it. But Draco Malfoy had never looked at her with that; he was the only person who hadn't, not once in the entire time she'd known him. He had picked her out of a crowd and for the first and only time in her life, it wasn't pity in the eyes of the person who saw her instead of everyone else. No, Draco Malfoy looked at her with curiosity and respect, and she owed it to him to earn it. In her mind, that was the price that made it worth the huge risk she was taking, bluffing like this.

"I won't kill you, Harry Potter - I will destroy what makes you who you are."

Harry stared at her for a long moment, his eyes wide behind his glasses. She couldn't tell if this was out of fear or disbelief, but she was sure that if she'd been watching Ron's face at the time, he would have looked exactly like this when she had blackmailed them with the information that the boys had locked her and Draco in a bathroom with a troll. Eventually, though, he nodded. "I understand."

_Do you really? _Despite her doubts, she lowered her wand, though she kept it in her shaking hand. "Of course you do, Harry. You're the clever one. Now, let's look at this paper."

She picked up the riddle, read through it slowly and carefully. She burned the verse into her mind, each word meaningless alone and the phrases melding together like a nursery rhyme.

_Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind_ \- ha! as though an unconscious troll, a barbaric life size game of chess and plants that literally choked out the life of unsuspecting victims were safe.  
_Two of us will help you, whichever you were find,  
One among us seven will let you move ahead,  
Another will transport the drinker back instead,  
Two among our number hold only nettle wine,  
Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line_ \- five of them useless to what Harry and Hermione wanted. One way forward, one way back. No way to guarantee both of them. It figured.  
_Choose, unless you wish to stay here for evermore_ \- or at least until they starved to death or, since neither of them knew how to conjure water yet, died of dehydration. Then if nothing else their ghosts could return to the school to tell everyone else how they were all doomed to die.  
_To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:  
First, however slyly the poison tries to hide  
You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;  
Second, different are those who stand on either end,  
But if you would move onwards, neither is your friend;  
Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,  
Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;  
Fourth, the second left and second on the right  
Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight._

Hermione grinned at the page, "Oh, _brilliant_. This isn't magic, it's logic - it's just a puzzle. Wizards like you and Ron, you don't have an ounce of logic, so you'd be stuck in here for the rest of your life."

"Yes, well, so will we, Hermione."

She wondered if he was starting to regret asking for their help, but he had already said he needed her, and, apparently, the two of them were a package deal. "Of course not, you've got me to solve it for you. _This_ is why you brought me along, these riddles, because of the chance that something _exactly_ like this could happen. Seven bottles, a riddle."

"Yes, but how do we know which one is safe? You read the thing, poison and wine and two things that we actually need."

"Weren't you listening? Lucky for you, Harry, our no involvement deal doesn't start until this is over. If you'll just give me a minute, I'll solve it for you."

Thankfully, Harry took her advice and stayed quiet while she thought the riddle through, looking up and down the row of bottles. She muttered to herself, thinking it through, dismissing the vials and then selecting new ones, shifting her fingers across the different types of glass. The biggest wasn't poison, so the second on the right had to wine because it was the same as the second of the left. Poison to the left of both, so the far right couldn't be poison, could it? But it couldn't be wine, it must be one of the potions they were after - back, since the ends wouldn't let them forward, through the black flame. And then there were two left, the smallest bottle and one that was neither small nor large. The only things left were poison and the way forward, and the smallest one wasn't poison. "Got it. Smallest will get us forward - well. One of us."

Harry frowned. "That's hardly one swallow."

Hermione shrugged, pointing at the other vial, the one on the far right. "That one will let one of us go back the way we came, through the purple fire. Back to Draco and Ron. But it might have enough for both of us. We could go back, let it go. If the Stone is through there, it's still none of our business, Harry. It shouldn't be our problem."

"It's not _our_ problem, it's mine, as you've put a lot of effort into making me see since I invited you and Malfoy down here. I can't let him come back, Hermione, not if it's really him. He killed my parents."

"Yeah, the entire wizarding world knows that. Harry, your life isn't a secret to _anyone_, don't make the mistake of thinking it is, even if you can't remember it."

"I do remember it, though."

"You were one year old. That's not possible." She tried to stay formal and separate, hold herself aloft from him just like Draco's parents would - how else would she stay sane in all of this? "Sorry, but it's just not."

"No, Hermione, that's not true. Your books might say all of these 'facts', but they're not always right. If they were, no one'd ever learn anything, would they? No, things change, facts aren't always relevant, and maybe you're always right, but not this time. I dream about it, Hermione. I dream a scream and a flash of green light, and that's it. That's my memory of my parents - that and some flashes of smiles, of eyes like mine and hair that must've been my dads, if all the stories are true. I can remember my mother's last moments, Hermione, and nothing you say can make that a lie."

She wasn't sure what to think of that, at least not at first. She gaped at him for a minute, debating whether to speak or let it lie. Of course she had to speak, it was in her nature to shove a wedge in, make it worse. She knew she was right, after all - she had never been wrong. "Harry, you might think that, but those memories can't be _really_ clear. They don't count. I know you want to think they do, but they can't. The brain of a baby can't form memories properly, not long-term ones, not the sort you'd have to form. Maybe your subconscious mind, but otherwise..."

He shook his head. "This is why Ron thinks that you and Malfoy make such a great match. He's absolutely certain that Malfoy is a bully, because that's what his father is to Mr Weasley. He doesn't see whatever it is that you seem to see in him. I don't think I see it, either, except that's not true. I've seen you when it's just the two of you, in the library or in potions. It's like... it's as though the two of you bring out best in each other, but the worst in everyone else. Does that make sense?"

"Actually, it kind of does." She shook her head. "Harry, you could be a brilliant wizard and an even better person, if you didn't insist on hanging around Ron all the time."

"Are you really the best person to complain about someone having a bad personality?"

"Point taken. If You-Know-Who is there, Harry, you'll be careful, won't you? You won't do anything reckless, will you?"

"Just try to stop the most evil wizard of the last century from coming back. Nothing too stupid, I promise."

In spite of the seriousness of the situation, she laughed, passing him the vial. "This is definitely the way forward, I'm sure of it."

"Completely certain?"

"Harry, you _just_ told me I'm always right. Give me a chance, I know what I'm talking about."

"Alright. You drink first."

"Prove it's not poison. You know, I wouldn't kill you with a potion. Because if you're right, then Draco will be right, and it will all turn out that the only way to get out of here involves you."

"I was thinking you could each take a broom, actually. From the room of keys. And when you get back to the school, go straight to the owlery and send an owl after Professor Dumbledore. McGonagall said he was in London on 'Ministry business', but if he gets back soon enough he might be in time."

"Oh. Right." She uncapped the potion, raised it as if in toast, and downed half of the contents. It was like ice going down her throat, sliding down more like something near a solid than a liquid. Swallowing, she recapped the bottle, putting it back with a shudder. "That's not very nice."

"What?"

"It's like ice," she explained.

"You should go before it wears off."

"Good luck -"

"Just go! I don't need Malfoy out for my blood, too."

She nodded to him and turned away, walking right through the fire. Her vision was enveloped by purple flame for a long minute, and then it was gone, her passing through completely unscathed. She let out a sigh of relief. "Magic," she said, and shook her head.

Past the troll and the ungodly stench, Hermione took a deep, slow breath. With any luck, Draco had rethought his decision to stay, and he was gone already.

Of course she wasn't so lucky. As she stepped onto the chessboard, her footstep rang out across the board. She still had her wand in hand, which was just as well. Draco had his wand trained on her, on his feet in an instant, and he was quite good at defending himself with magic - at least better than Hermione was at punching people. "Hermione? Where's Potter?"

She shrugged. "Something came up, and it was better that I came back alone. That's all - oh!"

Draco had launched himself at her, catching her by surprise. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, only loosening his grip when she squeaked that she couldn't breathe. Of all things to do in that moment, he stroked her hair. "You are _never_ going anywhere with these bloody Gryffindors again."

"Heh. Yeah, I sorted that out, actually. I have it on good faith that he's not going to bother us again."

"How did you manage that?"

"I don't know. How are your fingers not getting stuck in my hair?"

"Miracle?" As if to prove his point, he released his hold of her and withdrew from the hug.

"Probably. There's just one last thing to do."

"Get Weasley out of here?"

"Okay, two things. Come on, the only way out involves brooms and you _know_ how I feel about those things."

* * *

**Characters: **Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy.

**Word count: **2,564

**Song used: **_Black Fingernails, Red Wine_ by Eskimo Joe


	20. get there

**_D_iamonds**

**20\. get there**

_A lot of people, underground  
You wanna get there, you gotta go straight down_

* * *

Time passed and the term came to a close, both too slowly and too quickly for their liking. Draco wanted to know how she had possibly got the two Gryffindors to agree to leave them alone, and Hermione's only answer was that Harry was still in the hospital wing. "How could he possibly be bothering us?"

"He's _Potter_," Draco snapped, "he probably has a secret army of identical twins just waiting to surround us and take over."

"If there are more than two, they're not really twins, Draco." She turned the page without looking up.

"So you're agreeing with me? There _is_ a secret army."

"No. I think you're acting crazy and spouting unbelievable ideas as a result of that. But it's okay, I promise I won't hold that against you - _don't you dare_!"

"You asked for it," he smirked, leaning closer, his hands brushing against her shirt as he tickled her now squirming form. She was fighting the urge but ended up unable to help it, shrieking with laughter as he did so.

"Stop it!"

"This is a _library_!" cried Madam Pince, chasing the two of them out from their seats.

They fell against each other in the hall, laughing and fighting rather pathetically as Hermione tried to be angry at him. By the time their friends found them, they were sitting on a windowsill in the hall as they argued again.

"Did you see her face?"

"Yes, and I'm never going to be allowed in the library again. I'm going to fail every test I have to take for the next six years, and it's all because _you_ tackled me while Madam Pince was _right there_! Aren't you Slytherins meant to be sneaky?"

He scoffed. "I'll just tell mum to buy you a library. Better yet, a bookshop. You'd be good at helping people pick books, after all."

"Well, yeah, Draco. Our Hermione's good at everything."

"Blaise, stop touching me. Seriously. Please."

"I'm not sharing her," Draco clarified as Blaise removed his hand from around Hermione's shoulders, pulling a face at the pale boy.

"You don't own me," she huffed, resting her cheek against the glass. "_Especially_ since you just got me kicked out of the library."

"How'd he manage that?" Theo wanted to know, standing just behind Blaise.

"I tickled her," Draco said, smug. "She laughed so loudly that Pince kicked us out."

"Did she really?"

"_Madam _Pince, thank you very much - show some respect. And I was screaming at him to stop, too. So I _was_ being kind of loud. It's still his fault."

"That doesn't make any sense. Hi, Hermione. Theo, Blaise, Draco. Why are we all standing in the hall? Shouldn't we be in the library?"

Hermione scowled at him as the boys started to laugh. Blaise clapped Neville on the shoulder and explained, leaving the poor Gryffindor uncertain whether to laugh or take Hermione's side. He settled for the easier choice. "We're going to be late for the end of year feast."

"Late? We can't be late!" She jumped off the window and started down the hallway at a brisk walk while the boys looked at each other.

"Should I have told her what I actually just heard?"

"Probably. She does like knowing everything."

"She doesn't _like_ knowing everything, she just does," Draco insisted.

"Right, that's possible."

"Not helping, Theo."

"Harry's out of the hospital wing."

"And just like that, you two have become Slytherins for the next couple of hours. Congratulations."

Neville sighed, but obediently followed the boys nonetheless. "Slytherin table it is."

* * *

They had to catch up with and grab Hermione's arm to drag her over to the Slytherin table, and of course she argued, not that she knew the point. After a couple of minutes, Draco told her it was for her own good and physically dragged her over to sit with them. It helped keep his spirits up that he had to make Pansy shove over in order to do so.

The Great Hall looked rather thematic, decked out in Slytherin green. They were winning the house cup for the seventh year running, something the first years were thrilled over and most of the non-Slytherin student populace resented them their victory. The room was full of chatter as the students discussed their plans for the holidays. "I'm writing to Patil."

"Padma or Parvati?"

Blaise shot a look at Hermione. "Which do you think?"

"Padma. Good for you, Blaise, growing up a little."

"Thanks for your approval, Hermione. I felt that was all I needed to make this year the best I've ever had."

"Sarcasm," Theo interrupted, "doesn't get anyone anywhere."

"According to who? It seems to get Hermione and Draco pretty far."

Hermione snorted in amusement as Theo opened his mouth to answer, only to be interrupted by Draco protesting. "Why say my name second?"

"Because I like Hermione more."

"Oh, come on!"

Neville frowned. "I'm writing to Susan, too. I promised I'd help her with the Herbology holiday homework."

"I'll be sending Patil some muggle riddles. She hasn't seen sudokus or crosswords before, but she should be quite good at them. Ravenclaw and all."

Draco leaned closer to Hermione, touching her shoulder lightly. "Do you want me to write to you?"

"Gee, I don't know. Are you going to go against your fathers wishes?"

He groaned as everyone around them fell silent, staring at the doors as they opened. "I'm asking what you want, Hermione. What _you_ want. Cut it out, Theo," he snapped as his friend faked gagging, "Can't you just tell me that much?"

"Yes, actually," she said as the other students suddenly resumed chatting loudly amongst themselves, "I would like you to write. Only your owl would have to stick around, I don't have one."

"That's fine, Erinye likes you. Good. Because I was going to write anyway."

"Yeah, of course you were."

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore began, and Hermione instantly switched her attention to the Headmaster at the staff table. Draco stayed where he was, leaning against her shoulder. It had, after all, been a very long year, as the old man was about to say. "And what a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were. We had some simply awful events - the loss of our very own Professor Quirrel -"

"Maybe the job really is cursed," Neville whispered. Blaise nodded.

"- And the release of a troll certainly aren't the only such events. We've had bonding between students from separate houses, the like of which I haven't seen for many years. We've had Quidditch victories and losses, more practical jokes than I care to count -"

"Weasley twins," Theo muttered. Draco snorted.

"Like you're so innocent."

"- And plenty of you have managed to get into trouble. As I understand it, the House Cup needs awarding and the points stand this: in fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points. In third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two, Ravenclaw in second with four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, in first place, with four hundred and seventy-two."

Draco laughed aloud, clapping along with everyone else at the table, except for Neville and Hermione who were smiling uncomfortably. They had the awkward predicament of being pleased on behalf of their friends, but disappointed that their own house was doing badly. Coming last. Draco glanced over at the Gryffindor table in time to see a very pale, distressed-looking Harry Potter turn away from him and Hermione.

"Yes, well done Slytherin, well done Slytherin. However, recent events must be taken into account."

Most of the Slytherins smiles became rather fixed as Draco sat up a little. "Is he talking about -?"

"He can't be," Hermione paled, "we'll be expelled. He wouldn't - not after -"

"Is this about why you didn't come back to the dorm until about three A.M. the other day?" Blaise hissed, curious. Draco coughed and went back to leaning against her shoulder.

"I have a few last minute points to award. Let me see. Yes. First, to Mr Ronald Weasley for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house sixty points."

"It wasn't that good of a game," Draco muttered. Hermione coughed to hide her laughter.

"Second, to Miss Hermione Granger," Dumbledore's eyes moved along Gryffindor table, probably in search of the girl herself. Not finding her, he turned to the Slytherin table, the familiar twinkle in his gaze as he located her at Draco's side. "For the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house sixty points."

She groaned and turned to face Draco, knocking him off her shoulder to press her own face against his shoulder, hiding her blush. He patted her shoulder, smirking. "Ha. You got called on it."

"I don't want to be lumped in with those two, it'll just get me into trouble."

"They _are_ trouble," Blaise agreed, "but be realistic. We're not exactly angels."

"I keep forgetting you're a half-blood," Neville mused.

"Third, to Mister Harry Potter, for pure nerve and outstanding courage -"

"That's ridiculous. He didn't look so brave when I was threatening him."

"_Threatening _him? What are you talking about?" Draco stared at her.

"What do you do when we're not around?" Blaise sounded more impressed than anything.

"I didn't say threatening, I said talking to." The lie was helped by her voice being muffled, still pressed against Draco as she was. Her friends weren't fooled.

"- I award Gryffindor house sixty points."

Hermione snapped upright, frowning at the staff table. "He's made it so Gryffindor is ahead of Slytherin. That doesn't make any sense, it's favouritism. Why would he -?"

"Everyone knows he was a Gryffindor. Maybe he wants to relive a win he hasn't had since he was a student here."

Blaise snorted. "What, a hundred and fifty years ago? Long wait."

"He's patient. Probably. Aren't old people always patient?"

"Grandma Jean isn't patient. Not with me, anyway." Hermione pulled a face. "Gryffindor has twenty points more than you. What's he..."

"And _finally_, after a fantastic effort in putting aside some rather major differences, one can never be sure where he stands. I award twenty points to Mister Draco Malfoy."

The entire hall was completely silent, the occupants of the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables staring at each other across the hall. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were trapped awkwardly in the middle, debating between taking cover or taking sides. The inter-house war that had been waged for years was either about to end, or get much worse. But which was it?

Slowly, a girl at the Ravenclaw table started to clap. Later, Blaise would insist that he was _sure_ it was Padma, but she would deny it. Her friends joined in, not wanting her to be awkwardly alone. At the Gryffindor table, one of their siblings noticed the source and, shrugging, joined in. Other Gryffindors joined in, then more, and more. Hufflepuff joined in, and then, finally, Slytherin. The Hall went from quiet to chaos in less than a minute, as Dumbledore recommended a change in the decor. With a single clap of his hands, it was done: the Hall was coloured like Christmas, with a silver serpent alongside a golden lion above the heads of the staff at the table.

It was a rare sight, Gryffindor and Slytherin colours side by side. Maybe it would become more common in the future. Only time would tell.

* * *

Exam results came through the next day, along with a notice that all students needed to be packed in time for the train to leave the day after. Hermione, of course, managed to claim top student of their year, though except for Neville, her friends were all close to her level. Neville scored worst in potions but was second only to Hermione in Herbology. They were all satisfied with their grades - Draco was half-sure that even his father would be pleased when he pointed out that Hermione had been better than everything. "Maybe he'll even let her grow on him a little."

"What was that?" Blaise asked, tossing one last book in his trunk. The term was over, and all that was left to do was finish packing and meet Hermione and Neville to take a boat across the lake with Hagrid, to the train to board.

"Nothing. Hey, Hermione's birthday is after the summer, right? She'll be thirteen."

"Yeah, and?"

"I didn't get her a birthday present this year. What should I get her?"

Blaise shrugged, closing his trunk. "How would I know? She's my friend, Draco, nothing more. I can buy her chocolate or some book and call it done, if there are any books you haven't already bought her. But you have to impress her, don't you? Put some thought into it." He smirked. "I gave Patil a riddle to solve at breakfast this morning. Do you think she can crack it?"

"She's a Ravenclaw, she'll be fine. I really need to think of something to send mum to get her."

"You two are kind of gross, how much you cling to each other. It's not normal."

Draco sat down on his bed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You're going to let this drive me crazy all summer long, aren't you?"

"Yep. And I plan on enjoying it. Are you going to write to all of us or just Hermione?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

Draco grinned. "On whether or not you can catch me."

He didn't stop running until he spotted Hermione standing at the top of the stairs in the Entrance Hall. She looked up from her book, surprised by the racket as Blaise called after him that he was doomed to be caught, that he'd never lost a game of tag and wasn't about to start now. Draco skidded to a stop in the hall, Blaise knocked him over, and Hermione almost fell down the steps she was laughing so hard. The only reason she didn't was that Neville came up behind her, allowing her to grab onto him. Theo caught up to the Slytherins a moment later, shaking his head and smirking at their game. The group stayed together across the lake, getting a compartment together on the Hogwarts Express.

It was a pleasant journey, as they went unbothered by anyone who wasn't welcome. Neville ended up on the floor again, but he disappeared for a while to find and talk to Susan before returning with her, asking Hermione for homework help. Hermione read with Draco again, debating the best way to tackle the Transfiguration summer research assignment. Blaise and Theo set up a chess game on the seats opposite, trying to pull off a game that would be better than Rons, though Draco and Hermione agreed they'd have no chance. Padma Patil joined them early on, interrupting the chess game to announce she had solved the riddle. Blaise didn't believe her, up until she helped him positively slaughter Theo in the game. Then she was as welcome as any of the others. Hermione even suggested finding Cassie so they could get to know her, though Theo dismissed her. "Let her be with her friends. We'll invite her to sit with us next term."

Leaving the train afterwards, Hermione and Draco left in a pair. They turned to each other, each of them speaking at once. Then they stopped, took a breath, and Draco hurried to speak first. "You should come over this summer."

"And enjoy your dads company again? _You_ should come over. Invite Narc - oh, Mrs Malfoy."

"Hermione, hello. How was Hogwarts?" Narcissa was wearing a black blouse and tan pencil skirt, looking as stunning as ever alongside Monica and Wendell Granger, who were dressed down in the same collared shirts and pressed pants they would have worn to work that day.

"Good, thank you. Hi, mum," Hermione finished, dropping her trunk to give the woman a hug. Narcissa looked on as Draco came to her side, stroking his hair out of his face tenderly.

"And you?"

"Hermione wants to stay with us for a while over summer."

"I never agreed to that!"

Monica frowned. "Don't be rude, Hermione. If you're invited, later in the holidays, we'll talk about it properly."

Somewhere behind them, a little girl called out in excitement, and other students bade farewell to Harry Potter. Wendell was watching all of this curiously as Hermione looked back at Draco. "If he asks nicely, maybe I will. Otherwise..."

Draco scoffed and shook his head. "You're impossible."

"And you're selfish, but I don't hold it against you." She grinned.

"As if you could hold anything against you. I will write, though, Hermione. You and Blaise and Theo _and_ Neville, even."

"Fine, but if I'm going to stay over summer then you have to learn to use a phone -"

"I know how to use a phone!"

"- _And_ I'd like it if you invited the others as well."

"But that's more than -"

"There were twelve other bedrooms that I saw, I think you can manage."

"It could be pleasant," Narcissa reasoned before Draco could answer, "and if we invited the girls they're betrothed to, it could be a wonderful opportunity for getting to know each other."

"But Mister Malfoy might implode if you do that."

The woman smiled. "I can deal with a little temper tantrum."

Hermione didn't even want to consider what a Malfoys temper tantrum would look like, given the passion Draco tended to exhibit. She turned to Draco, offering her hand. He ignored it, pulling her into a quick hug. "I'll write."

"And I'll write back. I'll even answer your...oh, I didn't think of that. Hang on. Pen, pen, pen..."

A pen appeared, provided by Monica, who was talking to Narcissa all over again. Hermione grabbed Draco's wrist, twisting it to write her phone number across it.

"Call me, using that phone you say you know how to use. I should find Blaise before he leaves, give it to him too. Or Neville, even -"

Draco laughed, shaking his twisted arm and brushing the fingers of his other hand over her cheek. "You really are shockingly loyal, you know that?"

"My aim is to teach you to be exactly the same," she said, laughing right back. "Have a good summer, Draco."

He smiled. "I will if you will."

"Bet on it."

* * *

**Characters: **Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Narcissa Malfoy, Monica Granger.

**Word count: **3,075.

**Song used: **_Black Fingernails, Red Wine_ by Eskimo Joe.

**A/N:** And there we have it, the end of _Diamonds_. I hope none of you resent me for this too much, but I need to have a bit of a break from writing - daily updates left me with no time for anything else. I'll be editing and starting on writing the sequel almost right away, but I can't guarantee I'll start daily updates until March.

* * *

**Keep an eye out for Snakeskin****, the next insert into the series. It'll be up around March 1 at the latest.**


	21. Snakeskin has begun!

**_S_nakeskin**

Hermione Granger, despite being muggle-born, is the smartest witch in her year, a sentiment which is frequently repeated by  
teachers and peers alike. She is betrothed to wed Draco Malfoy, heir of one of the most feared wizarding families of the twentieth  
century. The two have been raised to be such different things that, in another world, they might hate each other.

In this world, though, they depend on each other. The two have made friends and enemies, and of course they have their  
issues. These are bad enough, but this year, change is coming to Hogwarts. For the first time, the two come face to face  
with the things that could tear them apart.

Can they withstand the pressure and become closer, or will experience tear them apart?

Only time will tell.

* * *

That's right, for all of you readers of _Diamonds_, the second book in the _Priceless _series starts today. **_Snakeskin_**_  
_is on my page, all you have to do is click on my name to find it. Keep in mind that I have commitments now (by  
which I mean I'm back to uni for the semester) and so updates will be once weekly, twice at most, for the  
duration of **_Snakeskin_**. That said, I quite like how I've written it so far - though of course I'm biased. I've been  
looking forward to starting this for weeks!

I'll still be editing _Diamonds__, _by the way. I'm not about to stop that. I just don't have access to the save  
file of it to edit properly at the moment.

Thanks to all of you for the phenomenal amount of feedback this has received. I do intent to respond to most  
of your reviews of the last chapter as soon as I have time. It's been a busy few weeks.

Keep reading for a preview of _**Snakeskin**_, book two of the _Priceless_ series. Or just head over to it now!

Thanks again,  
Kristie

* * *

_GRANGER TO MOVE IN WITH MALFOY ALREADY?_

_Written by Betty Braithwaite_

_Most of you readers should recall the post-Christmas article about the publics new favourite couple.  
For those of you who are unaware, the Ministry approves certain matches between pure-blooded  
and muggle-born or half-blood witches and wizards. The idea is that the matches will get rid of any  
lingering superiority sentiments, the like of which allowed the rise of You-Know-Who over a decade ago.  
Another war should be an impossibility._

_Hermione Granger, muggle-born child of two dentists and the best student of her year at Hogwarts  
School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, is paired with Draco Malfoy, son of suspected Death Eater Lucius  
Malfoy. They are the most famous pair, because the young Malfoy chose Miss Granger over every  
other non-pure-blood in his age group._

_Reports say that the children already get along as well as many newlywed couples, with only a few  
harmless arguments between the two. Indeed, their friends from Hogwarts have already stated that  
the two seem to be deeply in love with one another!_

_Perhaps, then, this explains why Miss Granger is already moving in to Malfoy Manor?_

_Reportedly, the students return from Hogwarts was met eagerly by each set of parents. Narcissa  
Malfoy, former heiress to the Black family fortune, was seen to greet Mrs Granger with open arms  
just outside the platform with a publicly seen hug. The two women have been seen to be getting  
along brilliantly, meeting up regularly as any old friends would._

_Even as young Miss Granger and Mister Malfoy were greeting their parents, Mrs Malfoy was  
finalising the plans for their summer. The Grangers would keep their daughter at hand for the first  
two months of the break, and at the start of August, the girl will come to stay at Malfoy Manor until  
the school term resumes. The Grangers were seen to welcome the suggestion, especially after the  
young Mr Malfoy acknowledged his own feelings regarding the matter._

_Should we take this as an indication that Miss Hermione Granger will be a Malfoy by name before  
she completes her education? This reporter believes that it is a very real possibility._

_Interview of witness, Mrs Prudence Parkinson, can be found on page 11._


End file.
